


When the darkness comes

by Fires_of_Ismael



Series: Keep going [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Erica Reyes, BAMF Lydia Martin, Good-ish Peter Hale, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Nemeton, Possessed Stiles Stilinski, no nogitsune
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-09-21 03:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 74,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17035322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fires_of_Ismael/pseuds/Fires_of_Ismael
Summary: When a witch and a corrupted evil tree want the same thing - power at all cost - that means trouble for the resident Hale pack. Especially when the one hurt the most is the one they hold most dear – their Spark, Stiles.There was something there with him. It was not all in his head. And that something surrounded him. Stiles took a ragged breath. Then he extended his Spark again. This time it hit the barrier much closer."Little spark, little spark, your powers are a child's play."A female voice spoke almost directly into his ear. He turned around but there was no one behind him."What do you want?"He was surprised how calm and collected he sounded, with just a little note with irritation."Nemeton."His carefully constructed composure started falling apart at the sound of that.





	1. All it needs is a little Spark

Derek has been fidgety all day, there was something in the air, something heavy, his skin felt itchy, his wolf was trashing around and from the look of the pack, they felt it too.

He was not sure if they simply fell under the influence of his mood or if they have also felt the weirdness hanging over them.

He couldn't settle, he never felt his wolf so strongly as he did now. Derek nervously licked his lips and with surprise discovered that his fangs were out. He looked at his hands, and sure enough, there were claws instead of nails. He tried to reign his shift in but couldn't. Then he felt the pull, as if someone was tugging at the bonds between him and his mate. It felt like a physical pain, like something grabbed his most cherished possession and tried to yank it out of his hands. The bond kept stretching, he felt it reach its limits, and snap.

And then Lydia screamed his mate’s name.

* * *

Stiles did not have a good day. Which sucked because it was supposed to be good. A meeting at the pack house, followed by a movie night, cuddling with Sourwolf, maybe something more. He had needs and Derek was so good at fulfilling them, no one could blame him for that.

And yet, here he was, in the middle of the freaking woods, his Jeep giving up on him on the road through the Preserve. No amount of fumbling around under the hood and patching the engine up with duct tape could get it to start again. He cursed the damn thing, but he had no choice other than to start walking. He had some ground to cover before he would get to the Hale house.

It took a lot of time and effort to get Derek to rebuild that thing. And Stiles understood the unwillingness, the stalling, he kept the pack away from Derek and forbade them to pester him about it for as long as he could. But the loft was not working for them, the pack bonds fragile and strained, had no chance of gaining strength there. No real space for the pack to become closer. Pack meetings were cut short, there was no spending time together, no sleepovers or puppy piles. He was still trying to get everyone to use that term but only Scott and Erica jumped in on the bandwagon. He would get the rest to join given time. He was persistent like that.

Stiles took it upon himself to convince Derek to use the property, to finally say goodbye to the ghosts of the past and move on. There were countless conversations on guilt and pain, and betrayal, Derek telling him about Kate, what she did, and Stiles wishing he could murder her again. But as he sat there listening, he reined the anger in, knowing how easy it would be for Derek to misunderstand the emotion. To take it as directed at him. So, he just hugged the wolf, who despite the growling and posturing went willingly and hugged Stiles just as tightly. The wound did not heal at that, the guilt still was an overwhelming burden sitting on Derek's shoulders. But it was a start. Stiles managed to convince the wolf to reach out to a therapist, recommended by Deaton, who knew of the supernatural. He was there to hug Derek after every session, as it quickly became apparent that touch starvation was another thing that weighted heavily on Sourwolf, and he was not going to let it stand. No, not on Stiles's watch.

Hugging turned to kissing, Derek was first to do that. Stiles kept perfectly still, and he remembered the look of panic on Derek's face as he tried to apologize. Stiles silenced him quickly, just to make sure that it was not just gratitude or appeasing Stiles, as Derek could smell all emotions that must have been pouring out of Stiles as they hugged. Derek just smiled and kissed him again.

After that it was like floodgates have opened. They kissed and fooled around, held hands, went on dates, and if pack was to be believed, smelled like each other so much that it was hard to tell them apart. The first time Stiles told Derek he loved him, was right after a particularly difficult therapy session. Derek came to his room as usually through the window and squeezed him hard without a word. And Stiles told him how brave he was. And that he loved him for it. The words felt right despite being said so soon. They felt like the truth. Derek kissed him then, and they made love for the first time. Derek whispering the words of love into Stiles's skin.

It was then that Derek agreed to have the house rebuild. Making room for the whole pack and they got closer. Boyd and Erica no longer thought about running away, Isaac finally felt like he had a place to call home. Scott and Allison, reluctantly at first, accepted the invitation. Scott got assimilated first, seeing Derek treat his best friend right being the deciding factor. Allison had some things to apologize for, but soon bygones became true bygones. Lydia, with pack around her, settled into her role as the banshee, being surrounded more with life than death did wonders for her. Jackson needed pack like he needed air, and actually became more tolerable. Which Stiles would not tell him to his face, his head was already big enough as it is. Even Peter gravitated towards the house and the pack. Stiles could not imagine what it must have been for him to move back inside the house in which he was burned twice. But Peter seemed to take it in stride. They were similar in that aspect, he and Stiles. Pushing through the pain and hardship using humor as a shield and sarcasm as a weapon.

The times were good now. They had a house, his relationship with Derek was moving in the right direction, they were even discussing him moving in. He was not sure if he was ready to leave his dad alone, but from the look of things between him and miss Martin, he might not be alone for long. The town quieted down. They did not have any major event in a long time. With Gerard out of the picture, and Allison and Chris as new heads of the town's hunter family, there was peace between them. It was calm. Almost too calm. Stiles did not want to jinx it. But such calm, usually meant a storm was brewing. He was not a glass half full kind of a guy. 

His jeep and phone dying on him could be signs of something coming. The rapid darkening of the air around him was raised the hair on the back of his neck as well. He was simultaneously anxious and berating himself for exaggerating. Ha ran with wolves, so his already unhealthy level of paranoia only increased. He knew that phones and cars broke down from time to time and he used that knowledge to calm down. He pushed on, ignoring the rapid beating of his heart, the raising hair on his arms, the electricity pulsing through his muscles, as his Spark came to life. He knew it was more driven by his belief that something was going on than by a real danger. It was well tuned with his anxiety and normally he knew how to control it. But this time, this time it acted up more than usually. And Stiles was getting tired of it. Tired of getting so wired, tired of pretending he wasn’t. So, he let the Spark out, let it roam around in search of whatever was putting him in this state. Still convinced that it was just his imagination.

And then his fillers hit a barrier that made his power sizzle away to nothing and filled him with cold dread. There was something there with him. It was not all in his head. And that something surrounded him. Stiles took a ragged breath. Then he extended his Spark again. This time it hit the barrier much closer.

"Little spark, little spark, your powers are a child's play."

A female voice spoke almost directly into his ear. He turned around but there was no one behind him.

"What do you want?"

He was surprised how calm and collected he sounded, with just a little note with irritation.

"Nemeton."

His carefully constructed composure started falling apart at the sound of that. The damn magical tree, laying dormant in a place in the Preserve that they could never find when they wanted to, but somehow ended up on when things were going bad, was the worst thing about their town. But as it lay silent, most things coming stumbling here in the night did not know about it. This was not good.

"I don't know what you're talking about, disembodied voice."

The voice just laughed but it was not a good laugh, it was making him want to shrink and disappear. It made him want to run but he couldn't move his feet. Besides, this was a predator right here, there was no showing weakness to one, no running. He had to bare his teeth and show that he was no prey. And definitely not an easy one.

"Oh child, I am too old to play these games. I know of Nemeton. I know of the Hale pack that is guarding it. And I will have it. I just need to get the alpha out of the way."

She spoke of Derek as if he were a thing to toss aside. And if she planned to hurt his mate, she had something else coming. He would never let her put a finger on him. Stiles gathered his Spark, and he believed, believed that he was enough to stop her, to keep Derek safe. But she just laughed again, and his Spark was gone. As if it was never there. And then she was there in front of him. She looked ancient, with her white hair in disarray and madness in her nearly black eyes. 

"There is no easier way to rid oneself of an alpha," she whispered, "than to have him go truly, deeply, madly feral."

She placed her hands on his shoulders. Pain flowed through his body, and he screamed and screamed until darkness swallowed him.


	2. Not all monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is violence and blood in this chapter. I have tried to keep it to minimum but it's there.

After Lydia screamed, all hell broke loose. Derek already had a tentative control on his shift. But as the bond broke, it slipped completely. He beta-shifted and howled and there was so much pain and desperation in the howl that the other wolves joined in instinctively. Their own bonds with Stiles braking, giving them a whiplash. Lydia who sat motionless and silent after that one scream, so Allison hugged her, trying to bring her some comfort.

Allison felt nothing, but she did not need to, she knew what happened, the moment Lydia shouted out Stiles's name and Derek lost control of his wolf. She felt her eyes fill with tears. But she would cry later. She needed to get the situation under control.

"Lydia, Lyds, come on, I need your help. The wolves, Derek, we need to get them to calm down. Lydia."

"It's wrong," Lydia started moving in a rocking motion, back and forth, in the extent that Allison's arms allowed her too, and she did not seem all there, "wrong, it's wrong. Something's wrong."

She kept repeating iterations of it, over and over again. And Allison realized that she would be of no help. She needed an ally, if she did not want this to turn into a blood bath. Feral werewolves this close to a full moon, that was not good. Surprisingly, even Peter howled with the rest, but she could see him slipping in and out of his shift.

"Peter! Peter, come on. We need to get them to listen. We need to get Derek to listen. Peter!"

He snapped out of it and focused his eyes on her. It never felt good to be in the center of Peter's attention, but this time was an exception. His eyes were filled with sorrow she did not expect but were blessedly human.

"Peter, if we calm Derek down, we will calm all of them down. Help me."

She never thought that she would be working hand in hand with Peter Hale, but here they were. Trying to wrestle a feral Alpha and get him to calm down. Her heart went out to Derek as she listened to his pained howls. But the whole pack was on edge even before this hell erupted and Derek's bout of madness was like a match thrown at a powder keg. She needed to put the fire down, she did not want to be forced hunt them. Not after what Gerard made her do. Not after they forgave her by some miracle. Though she strongly suspected that the miracle's name was Stiles.

Derek struggled against them, but he was weakening, the first shock wearing off. Peter was holding his shoulders, trying to shout some sense into him, the rest of the pack miraculously stayed back. Even in their state, they must have still been aware that Peter and she are pack. Finally, the howls quieted down; and Derek fell out of the beta shift. And his sobs were heartbreaking.

"Stiles, I felt it, he is gone. He cannot be gone. Stiles..."

Allison wanted to soothe him, find some words to help, but she knew that there were no words in the world that could make this better. She just had to get him to be calmer, more collected. The threat was not yet gone, he was still on the edge of a shift.

"Derek, please, your pack needs you now. We need you now. We have to find out what happened. Please, calm down, please."

She kept talking and, to her surprise, Peter joined in, together they repeated their pleas and words or assurance, until Derek took a deep breath and settled. His hand still shook, his eyes were wet, and his breaths were coming out ragged. But he was fully human, and the pack settled with him, all coming out of their mad haze. All except Lydia, who kept whispering how all this was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Allison agreed with her, everything about this was wrong, but she needed the pack strong, they needed to act. Whatever happened to Stiles, they needed to know, had to find him. Maybe it was not too late. Maybe they were wrong. Though she knew that she was grasping at straws here. The raw pain on Derek's face told her that the worst must have happened.

She has always envied the wolves. How they all felt connected within the pack, how they formed connections with their pack humans and the banshee. Scott tried to explain it to her on more than one occasion, how he felt her presence even when she was not around. How he could tell when she was happy or when she was in distress. How he felt her life-force through the bond, even on the darkest night, he was reassured that she was alive. She wanted to feel that, because it sounded intimate and calming and, sometimes, she felt so lonely.

She did not consider then how it would feel to lose someone. To have those bonds ripped away suddenly, without a warning. To have a void where it was once pulsing. For once, she felt lucky that she did not have to experience that, and at the same time she felt guilty for being so selfish. But the pain from the loss of her mother was still raw, and losing Stiles, that was something horrible, awful, and she was absolutely glad, she did not experience the same intensity of it as those who had a bond with him. It was all dictated by self-perseverance. She did not think that she would have the strength to survive a pain like that intact.

Derek was still out of it, but he seemed to have an iron grip on the shift. The pack was undoubtedly pretty aware of the level of his distress as they gathered around him. Each trying to at least touch him. With his three original betas wrapping him tightly in a hug. Stiles called it a half-baked puppy pile. Reserving the name of a fully-fledged pile for when they were all laying together, holding each other close.

Allison was just about to suggest they investigate what happened, find much needed answers to the only question on their mind, when a piercing, bloodcurdling scream filled the clearing between the forest and the house. The inhuman shriek was followed by the sound of running feet, of branches broken and crunched leaves. Then the branches parted, and a monster broke onto the clearing and screamed again. It was a deafening, shrill monstrosity of a sound but even covering her ears, Allison still heard Lydia's chant overshadowing that awful scream.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong."

* * *

Stiles came to slowly and almost wished he didn't. Everything hurt. And that was not an exaggeration, of which he was repeatedly guilty. It was an honest truth, there was not a place on his body that was not in pain. He was on the verge of hysteria. Despite the pain, he got to his feet. He had to get to Derek and the pack, he had to warn them. He shuffled his feet as every step was hard to take. His muscles protesting, the pain resonating bones deep.

He was close to the house when he heard the howls. They were a heartbreaking sound, so much sorrow filled them that panic gripped at Stiles's heart. Something horrible must have happened. He forced his body to run, had to get to Derek fast, had to see why that sound ever left his lungs, what could have made the pack sound so awful. His pain pushed to the back of his mind, as his sole priority became the pack, his family, his mate. He had to be there, had to. He crushed branches and leaves, not paying attention to what he stepped on, not being careful not to break a leg, tunnel vision only allowed him to concentrate on that one thing. Getting to the house.

Finally he reached the clearing. Heart pounded in his chest, sweat was dripping down his face, pain resonated somewhere deep inside him, not letting him forget it was there. But he could already see the house. Derek was there, he needed to get to Derek.

A furious roar stopped him in his track. There was his mate, bursting through the door of the house, and running towards him. His eyes were furious, red and he was shifting. The pack gathered behind him, all in their beta shifts. And Stiles panicked. They all looked angry and scared, he realized that something must have followed him. Was it the witch? Did he bring her here with him? He quickly spun around but there was no one there.

He was just about to ask Derek, what the hell was going on, when the alpha landed on him and pinned him to the ground.

"Derek, what are you doing..." he did not even finish when he felt claws piercing his skin and he shrieked. He started trashing around in Derek's tight grip but to no avail. All he succeeded to do was drive the claws deeper. This added to the pain he was already been. He was quickly approaching a limit on how much more he could take. Desperation gave him strength and he managed to roll them over, using his legs as leverage. He quickly stumbled of Derek, while the latter was still slightly dazed. Stiles knew that this was his one chance to run. To wait out whatever was going on with his pack.

Before he even managed to move, pain bloomed all over his back. As he turned, he saw Erica still moving her arm, her claws stained red with his blood.

"Catwoman...?" he mumbled, shock coursing like fire through his veins, lighting all his nerves.

He looked at his pack, his friends, their faces twisted in various stages of the shift, their palpable anger directed at him. As he realized that, he realized also that they did not plan to just hurt him. They would kill him, if he lets them, they would rip him apart. His family would do that. Air was knocked out of his lungs as panic squeezed them painfully adding another burden onto his weakening body. He had to do something.

Stiles reached for his Spark, believing it was there, believing it would protect him, but he was trying to pull from an empty vessel. It did not respond to his pleas, and the next thing he felt were Derek's claws, his mate's claws, dragging across his face, braking the skin on his cheek, right down to the chin. He screamed, rolled away, covered his face with his hands.

"Why..." he felt tears of pain and despair gathering in his eyes, he couldn't stop them from falling. "Derek, why..., why, please stop. Please."

But they were not listening, as they encircled him, trapping him between them. He tried to drag his body away from the claws that reached for him again, this time sliding down the left side of his body, leaving fiery pain in their wake. His throat hurt from all the screaming. He couldn't take it anymore. Why were they doing it. Why didn't they stop. He sobbed and pleaded, when Isaac's heavy boot caught him under his ribs, when Boyd's teeth sunk into the flesh of his calf, when Derek held him down, his hands around Stiles's neck. Choking him. That moment Stiles realized that this was how he was going to die.

He was losing air rapidly as Derek squeezed harder.

"Derek... stop..." almost no sound left his mouth, but it did not matter, Derek did not listen, would not listen even if Stiles would be screaming from the top of his lungs. Between panic stealing his breath and Derek squeezing the life out of him, Stiles felt himself slipping away.

"Wrong!"

That was Lydia, Stiles could hear her distressed voice even through the thumping of blood in his ears. She seemed to be repeating that one word, louder and louder. Until whatever was building up in her exploded and she screamed.

It was like no scream he ever heard from her. It filled the whole clearing. Made the wolves roar and cover their ears. Made Derek release him so he could take a desperate breath. Made the air vibrate around them. Something shattered and Lydia finally fell silent. Stiles closed his eyes, his moment of reprieve coming to an end. But nothing came, so he opened them. And met Derek's very much human kaleidoscope eyes looking at him with fright.

"Dear god... Stiles..."

The hands on him were gentle, a violent juxtaposition to what was happening just a moment ago. The whiplash from it, the pain, the lack of air and the uttermost panic his body ever felt sucked the remaining strength from him. And once again Stiles slipped into unconsciousness followed by the sound of Derek's anxiously screaming his name. 


	3. Scream and shout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Blood mentions. Aftermath of violence.

Her skin itched. Not like when it broke out in a rash, more like as if something was crawling underneath it and she could not scratch at it. It was wrong. The voices were all wrong. They made her scream; they forced the name past her lips but she could not shake the feeling that she should have remained silent. But it was hard to think. There was fog around her mind, her senses overloaded by the howls around her. She felt Allison's hand on her shoulder, but she couldn't move. She had to let her know that something was not right, that all this was not supposed to be happening. She caused this despair that was fragmenting her thoughts and she had to stop it but the voice was still shouting that name, and she couldn't speak, afraid of screaming again and again.

The crawling feeling only intensified when the clearing was filled with another scream. Both inhuman and human to her ear. There was pain in that voice, and it pulled her towards that creature that came onto the clearing. Derek pushed her out of the way as she tried to reach it. As he attacked the monster, the feeling of wrongness intensified, turning to an almost physical pain. She wanted to run her fingers down her arms, leaving welts on her skin, just to scratch at that awful itch, even if that meant scratching her skin off. It itched so bad, beneath her eyes, in her throat, down her back. The wrongness crawled along her spine, filled her lungs, twisted her insides. There was no other thought in her mind but the all-consuming need to scream.

She looked at the creature, bloodied, defeated, dying at Derek's hands. And the wrongness got so much stronger that she could not contain it any more. She had to let it free. So, she screamed.

The air vibrated around the pack and the creature and Lydia kept screaming, until the wrongness passed, and something shattered in the air. She was still in a haze, when she heard gasps and Derek's pained whine.

"Stiles... no, no, no."

He was lying under Derek, motionless and pale. Blood surrounded him in pools. There were claw marks on his face. Ugly, bleeding wounds, covering a third of his face. His red hoodie was in shreds.

"Stiles..." her throat hurt, it felt swollen. damaged from all the screaming, her voice now barely a whisper. And yet, it resonated, in sharp contrast with the previous loudness, it echoed in the silence. Broken only by Derek's sobs, and the wounded sounds coming from the pack.

"We need to, we have to get him to the hospital."

The fog on her mind lifted, leaving her sharp and strung up. Ready to bark orders if she needed to. She would not scream his name again. Not today, not any time soon if she could help it. Her muscles felt ready for action, stupor leaving her body in violent waves. Energy rolled off her, galvanizing those around her.

Derek carefully stood up, holding Stiles tightly to his chest. His face was pale and splattered with blood. Calmness on his face was belied by the look in his eyes. His eyes were filled with so much emotion that Lydia didn't know how he managed to hold himself together. He cradled Stiles, holding him like the most precious thing in the world. Which he was for the alpha. His hold was steady, but there was a tension to his shoulders that had to be painful. He walked fast towards the house and the garage, the pack following him like obedient puppies. Their heads hanging down. Erica kept looking at her bloodied hand, her lips trembling as Boyd led her with a hand on her shoulders. Lydia could feel her turmoil the strongest, it did not surprise her. Whatever emotion Erica decided to feel, it was always strong, fierce, and unrelenting. Whether it was happiness or grief. Or guilt. She could wrap it around herself like a cloak. Even tighter than pre-therapy Derek ever did.

Lydia watched them silently, before jumping into action. She was needed. She would think what all this meant later. She would worry and analyze, and nitpick, she would dig in and ask questions and poke at fresh wounds to find the answer. She would scratch at scabs, squeeze the bruises, scrub the cuts until they would bleed truth. There would be countless hours of silence, grasping at strings of her subconsciousness and listening to the voice she trusted and those that toyed with her today. She would dig her heels in and pull at the treads until they would reveal all the why's and who's, and how's. Not now, though. Now she was not needed as the banshee. Now she needed to be Lydia. She needed to guide them if she did not want it to end in more pain. And more screaming.

"Allison, you drive Derek's car," she left no room for a protest or any small disagreement. I will drive the betas, Scott, you go with Allison. We'll meet at the hospital. Go. I'll call the sheriff."

Allison nodded; her entire posture was so rigid that Lydia was surprised not to hear joints crack. But the huntress was made of steel covered with even more steel. There was no softness to her edges, despite what Scott seemed to believe. Lydia never doubted that she loved them and would defend them until her last breath. Had Stiles died, Allison would grief, Lydia saw her in the deepest embrace of a loss, and she knew that Ally was capable of that feeling. More so maybe even than any of them. But while he was alive, she would not waver, she would not despair. She would remain in control. Lydia knew she could count on that.

The car took off, pebbles flying from under its tires, the engine purring as Allison sped off leaving her with the rest of the distraught pack. With Stiles now sent off to the hospital, she could focus on them, make sure no one else got hurt. That no one hurt themselves. All of them carried their own traumas. Erica, underneath her carefully constructed femme fatale persona, was still the broken, sick girl that was bullied and ridiculed. Scott and Stiles reached out to her before she was turned. Kept her grounded when Derek lacked the skill to do so. Then Stiles went out of his way to fix their little pack. And now she had his blood underneath her claws, and she looked lost and small. It was jarring, Lydia was embarrassed to admit that she looked over Erica before, not really seeing her, but catching her on the peripheries of her vision. Even back then Erica did not look so beaten down.

Boyd remained silent, a steady presence at Erica's sight. But Lydia saw the cracks in his demeanor. Stiles and Boyd had a rough start, but Stiles did not stop trying to befriend the lonely kid that turned to a lonely wolf. Stiles was the glue that build a family around Boyd. Stiles's blood was now dripping from Boyd's chin, the wolf making no move to wipe it off.

Isaac with his violent upbringing was a sarcastic, distrustful mess that clashed with Stiles's sarcastic distrustful mess, making sparks fly, figuratively and literally. But they were both loyal to a fault and bonded over the needs of the pack. But where Stiles was a steel spine hidden under layers of deceptive softness, Isaac was fragile glass wrapped in barbed wire. He hid himself under an armor made of scarves and sharp tongue. But the softness was there, inside of him. And it poured out of him now in waves, all of them crashing against Lydia's heightened, abused senses.

Jackson was the hardest to read because she knew him best. She was so in tune to his general being that she forgot to look underneath the surface. Sometimes, she forgot that he had depth. They were tangled in a dance for so long. He treated her like a trophy, an arm candy, a confidante, his little girlfriend, his greatest love. She treated him as a crutch, an excuse to bury the more unpopular parts of herself deep down, a shield, a burden, her greatest love. She saw him for what he was, but sometimes forgot to look twice at what was brewing underneath the skin. Sometimes she forgot to check how he was doing.

And despite that there was a lot of bad blood between him and Stiles, they have both grown closer, when Jackson gained back control of his shift, no longer a kanima at his master's beck and call, Stiles was there. With all the knowledge he gained on werewolves, their powers and weaknesses, their transformation and anchors. He showed Jackson how to take a total control of his body, mind, and wolf. And Jackson might have been bad at words and feelings, but the whole pack felt the relief and gratefulness. One thing that Jackson has always been afraid of was not being in charge of himself. From his parents, knowing better, through Matt and then Gerard, seizing control over him, to, and it was not easy to admit, Lydia herself, as she tried to fit him into the mold of her expectations. Everyone had their own agenda that they used him for. So, when Stiles selflessly put the reins back into Jackson's hands, everything changed between them.

She worried about Jackson the most.

There was no way to prepare for a situation like this. No book to read the words from. Nothing could make what happened bearable. Nothing could erase the wrongness, the terror of what perspired. But she had to try minimizing the damage.

She was the harbinger of death and doom. She was the wailing woman, the cry of disaster. But she could also reach deep down to the softer side of her, that she kept tight concealed. Where she was Lydia, underneath the brain, the wisdom, the popularity, the banshee. Where she carved the place for every member of her pack. She put things away into that little space and there they waited. For a time like this.

"I cannot undo what happened. But I can make sure that sheriff knows. I can get you to Stiles, so you can see him, feel him, witness him living. And I can leave no stone unturned to find whoever did this to him. To us. So, you can feel sorrow but don't let it turn into despair. Turn it into anger instead. Let it ground you in your humanity for Stiles. But keep the wolves close. We will go after the ones who really hurt him. Who were coward enough to use your hands for themselves."

Lydia was aware that as far as motivational speeches go, this was not the best one, but talks like this were Stiles's domain. He could rally crowds with his words if he chose to select them carefully. He had such a fast working brain, his mouth often running away from him. But when the situation required it, he would quiet down, it was fascinating to watch, like a wind standing still. His movement became calculated, his words chosen with utmost care, his voice soothing but resonating with power. Scott sometimes said that at those times, Stiles smelled like air after the storm, charged and fresh. There was a spark under that skin, and it shone through when needed. She did not have that. She had her book-read words, her mind always ahead of a task, she could calculate the impact what she said could have on those listening. But there was no lightning in her words. They just were. Sophisticated or simple, rapidly recited or slowly articulated, wrapped in feathers or razors. They just existed. They would never reach his level.

But they worked. Erica wiped her hand against her denim pants. And flashed the yellow of her eyes at Lydia once, before they faded to her gentle brown. The boys said nothing, but there was something, maybe not lighter but less dangerous in their posture.

For now they were safe, so she pulled out her phone. It was amazing and slightly frightening how much her contact list grew in the recent time. She only had a handful of numbers in her phone before Peter selfishly decided to bite her. And now she had a lot more of them, so much more to lose. 

She did not know how she was going to tell the sheriff what happened to his only son. But she had to do it. She was probably the only one in the right mind to do it. So, she dialed the number and waited until she heard sheriff's tired voice picking up.

"Hello, sheriff. It's about Stiles."

And then the floodgates opened, and the words poured out. The only answer to them being the sound of sheriff's gasps of surprise and one word full of anguish.

"No!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for any mistakes. I have tried to catch them all during editing but I'm not sure if that's even possible as English is not my first language.


	4. Two kinds of love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medical inaccuracies - the hospital and all that happened in it was used as a plot device for what I needed to write.  
> Hence, it is definitely not how that would work in the real life ;)

There are many things that a person hopes not to hear in their lifetime. First one being, your wife has an incurable disease. Your wife has dementia. Your wife is dying. Second on the list, are the whispered or shouted questions of the person you love the most in the world asking 'who are you?'. But they pale to nothing when you pick up your phone, exhausted to the bone from a long shift, feeling happy and sneaky for eating a doughnut on your way home, and hear the voice of your son's friend that one of the last good things in your life might be dying right now.

Noah always wanted to be a father. Just like early on, he knew that he wanted to be a deputy, he also knew he wanted to have a big family. A house filled with laughter, a couple of kids and a wife to grow old with. A goddamn white-picked fence kind of life. When he met Claudia, he believed that this was what he was going to get. They got married, moved to a cozy house with a white fence, and soon after that, Claudia got pregnant with Stiles. Well, with Mieczysław, their little Mischief. They were happy, watching the USG screen with fond smiles, Noah speaking to the growing belly, assuring his son that he will be loved. That he will be safe. They were both taken in by their child from the moment they found out he was there.

Once, he was born, they knew he was special. Though most parents probably thought so about their children. When Stiles grew, it was becoming increasingly apparent how special he was. The boy was quicksilver, the moment he learned how to walk, he was in constant motion. The only thing faster than his limbs was his brain. The diagnosis of ADHD did not come to them as a surprise. It did mean that his life at school would be more difficult than that of his peers. And he did require them to stay alert. But the kid was also fierce in his emotions. Loving them strongly, making sure they ate their vegetables once he found out they were healthy, something he did to Noah till this day. He would hug Noah after a hard day at work and help Claudia around the house with a smile on his face. He kept asking about a brother or a sister, at least until he met Scott and dragged him in, declaring that he had a brother now, so he was fine.

There might have been more kids, but then Claudia got sick. And everything changed, everything fell apart. She started forgetting who she was, who they were. She was paranoid and violent, and Noah no longer trusted her with Stiles. She attacked him more than once. He still remembered her screaming at their ten-year-old that he wanted to kill her, how Noah had to pull her away as she attacked Stiles, hitting and scratching him. That made Stiles grow up way too quickly.

When he found out about the supernatural, and how long his son was a part of something bigger and dangerous, he was not surprised. The kid was touched by death early on. Holding his mother's hand as she was passing away, alone there without support, as the sheriff was working at that time. What he experienced made him more mature for his age but also much more loyal, fierce, and attached to people he cared about. He still got them and himself in trouble, but if they needed him, Stiles would jump for them into the fire. Whatever Scott was wrapped in, Sties became wrapped in it as well. Regardless of how violent or dangerous it was. Regardless of how fragile he was, a human among creatures from myths and legends.

It only intensified when Stiles and Derek got together. Now that was both a surprise and an obvious thing for anyone with eyes. It was not a father's dream to see his only son together with an older man, who was for a moment suspected of murder, had a long list of issues, and on top of that was an alpha werewolf. But Noah saw how protective Derek was to his son, how much he changed for him. And Stiles was a Stilinski, they loved with the intensity of a thousand suns. If he settled on Derek, and Derek reciprocated his feelings, there was no way Noah could keep them apart. As far as he knew his kid, and he felt he really knew him, Stiles would not cut ties with him, seeing as much Stiles made sure he was healthy and how much he worried. But Noah felt that their relationship would not come out intact from an attempt to come between Stiles and Derek.

Paradoxically, the supernatural world, despite being violent and threatening, and causing the kids a lot of grief, somehow seemed to be what Stiles and Scott needed. Apart from curing Scott's asthma, and taking one worry of Stiles's shoulder, it also gave them a circle of close friends, and that made Noah happy, his kid was way too lonely, too serious.

But it also put him in danger. He dodged it so far, but his luck had to run out eventually. And now it did.  
The drive to the hospital felt like it took forever, but he finally arrived. Melissa greeted him at the door.

"He will be fine."

The tension in his body gave a little and he felt dizzy with relief. But Melissa's face belied her words. It looked serious and grave. And Noah collected himself and braced himself for whatever was coming next.

"There will be, he will have scars. Some on his face. But it looked worse than it was. No internal injuries just a lot of stitches. I think you should talk to Derek."

She grabbed his arm and held tightly. That was a both reassuring and restricting gesture. Like she wanted to make sure he would not charge in, make a situation worse. Like he would ever do that.

"Melissa..."

"Go see them. Be easy on them. Please. They are in C wing. Room 411. Go. And just..." she looked at him, with her patented Melissa stare, full of consideration and warmth, and at the same time, there was a command in it that was difficult not to follow. "Stiles needs you, but the rest of them, they need you too."

His body worked on autopilot, so he hardly remembered getting to the right wing, he felt as if he just closed his eyes and then appeared at the corridor that led to his son's room. The corridor was packed, the pack was there, some sitting on the plastic chairs, some on the floor. And they all looked broken. His heart squeezed painfully when he saw Derek. The young man was sitting on the floor leaning against the wall. He was covered in blood, his fingers stained red as he was burying his face in his hands. He raised his head when he heard Noah approaching and the look on his face... That was a look that Noah recognized. It was a look of a broken man, that was a look he saw in the mirror when Claudia got worse and worse. Noah wanted to reach out and say something, but he needed to see Stiles first. He went by and squeezed Derek's arm. The wolf flinched, almost ripping his shoulder from under Noah's arm, but he did not have time to analyze what it meant, the need to see Stiles now almost a painful sensation.

When he entered the room, he froze for a moment. Stiles was wrapped in bandages like a mummy. There were tubes attached to his body. He looked so out of place, so still and unmoving, lying on that bed.

"Oh, Stiles."

He walked towards the bed, sat on the lone chair by it and grabbed Stiles's hand.

"Derek, I know you can hear me son. Come here please," he whispered, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere of the room.

It felt wrong to scream somehow.

* * *

Derek wanted to ignore the summons. He wanted to sit there, hide from the world, and listen to the heartbeat of his mate. Pretending none of this happened.

But as Noah whispered from beside the bed of his son, whom Derek placed in that bed, he knew that he could not refuse. He had to go in there and come clean. Confess to the sheriff that he has let his son down. That his blood was literally and figuratively on his hands.

Noah never openly opposed to their relationship. Derek knew that in the beginning, he was not a fan of the two of them together. It was palpable in the air, but he never said anything. Never made Stiles choose. And in time, he started to be increasingly accepting. He no longer smelled disappointed or angry. He warmed up to Derek in unexpected ways. It felt good. Noah was a good man, having his approval, having his inner warmth directed at him, made Derek feel good. Noah reminded him of his father.

And this was how he paid him back for all the trust.

By almost killing his son. How he was going to tell him that. How do you say something like that? He got up slowly and walked like a man going to his execution. Noah was sitting at Stiles's bed and held his son's hand. Derek did not see Stiles since they patched him up and placed him in this room.

Now he saw the extent of what he did.

"It's my fault. I did this."

He did not plan for these words to come out. So crass to the point that they sounded uncaring. Like unaware to him, his prickly armor he wore for so long was returning with a vengeance. He tried to suppress those reactions. Noah did not deserve that.

"I am so sorry."

The raw despair in his voice surprised even him. Noah did not move, did not look at him. Did not acknowledge his words, or so it seemed. The time seemed to stand still, they sat and stood there in silence. Until Noah spoke.

"Melissa said that you all needed me. Lydia said that what happened was as awful as strange. I want to know what happened, son. Please. Whatever happened. Unless you meant to hurt him, you're still good in my books."

The sob that escaped him was painful, scratched his insides on the way out. He took a shaky breath walked by the bed, took Stiles's other hand in his and started talking. All the while he kept looking somewhere outside the window, not to look at Stiles, as he remembered attacking him, not to look at Noah when he told him how he hurt his son.

"We felt it in the air. The whole pack. We have felt strange long before this happened. And then, when the tension increased to almost unbearable, Lydia screamed. She screamed Stiles's name."

He heard Noah stir at that.

"You mean, like a banshee scream?"

Derek nodded.

"We felt the bond break. It was violent, like he was torn away from us. It hurt so much. We all gone crazy. All the wolves."

He still remembered that feeling. Stiles was his anchor, to feel it ripped away from him, to believe he died. There are no words that he could describe the pain with. Or the state it pushed him in. It was more than madness. More than momentary insanity. It was losing himself in the animal that was buried deep inside him. Going feral. Feral animal did not think, it acted on instinct, but the instinct was skewered. Feral animals did not live long.

It was by some miracle that Peter and Allison managed to bring him back from the brink. Or so he thought. Now he was not so sure. Maybe they managed to bring him back, calm him down, because his anchor was never really gone. Only hidden from him.

"Then, we heard a horrible scream. It came from the woods. And then a monster appeared at the clearing. It was making horrible noises, and it came at us."

The anger that he felt when he saw the creature was unimaginable, completely unstoppable. There was no doubt in his heart that this creature hurt Stiles. He was not sure now, whether that was his own independent thought or if it was planted by whoever made him hallucinate.

"All I saw was the monster, and Lydia was there, on its path. I pushed her away and attacked it. I was angry and I wanted to protect her. And my pack joined in. But she felt that something was wrong."

The sheriff gasped behind him. Noah was a smart man and has probably already figured out what Derek was going to say next.

"I didn't feel anything out of place. It all was so real to me. The feeling of the scaly skin, the rows of sharp teeth, the claws, I even felt it swipe its tail at me. As I held it down, it felt strong. And there was no doubt in my mind that it killed Stiles. So, I did not hold back. And then Lydia screamed."

He remembered how it was like waking up from a dream. The haze left his mind so fast at that sound. It was unlike any other scream they heard from Lydia. It shattered something around them, like a high pitch shatters glass. And when he looked down, he saw his mate, the person he loved the most, bloodied and pale. His own hands squeezing Stiles's neck, cutting off his air. There are no words to describe what he felt at that sight. It brought back memories of Paige dying at his hands, but it felt so much worse. Paige was a crush; Paige was the first love. Derek planned for Stiles to be his last, everlasting, growing old together kind of love. Seeing him hurt at Derek's hands. Seeing him almost dead at Derek's hands, that crushed Derek's spirit.

"Then I saw him. Sheriff, I know that it is unforgivable but please, believe me, I am so sorry."

His hands clenched into fists, the claws poking little holes in his palm. Blood dripping on the floor. Derek ignored the pain, the blood. He deserved it, deserved to feel it and more.

"Enough."

Derek jerked at the sound of Noah's voice. It was firm but not harsh. And yet, Derek readied himself up for a scalding, for screaming, for Noah telling him to stay away from his son. And Derek would listen to it all. There was nothing that Noah would tell him, that he did not deserve to hear. That he did not say to himself.

"I know your propensity to blame yourself for everything that happens. But this is not a guilt that you should be carrying, son."

Derek did not expect to hear that. For a moment he thought that maybe he misheard something. As the words truly reached him, his knees gave in and he fell to the floor. There was no relief, this was no magical release from the guilt that ate at his heart. But Noah had the qualities of a wonderful father, the voice that reached one's soul and soothed the pain that ripped at it.

"I did this."

A hand landed on his arm, and Derek reeled in surprise. He did not even hear Noah move; he must have been so lost in his own head. He did not even realize that his fangs and claws were showing. He almost lost control again. All that at Noah's words.

"No, someone did this Derek, with your hands. With the hands of the pack. Melissa was right that you need me now as much as Stiles does. It would be so easy to blame you, god knows that it would be. But that would be letting the real villain of the hook. And I cannot do it. And I cannot let you do it. So, get out of your head son. This is a case to be solved. And you all have to step up. Do you understand?"

The hand grounded him, and the words reached those placed inside Derek that needed to hear this, to have a purpose to put himself back together.

There was a person out there that did this to Stiles and the pack. That wanted his mate dead and make the pack their tool to do that. That person wanted them broken and there was nothing that Derek wanted to give that person other than his claws around their heart as he was ripping it out.

"I understand, sheriff. We will find whoever did this. And I know you are the man of the law, but there will be no official case, there will be no arrest. That person will end up dead at my hands."

"Good."

Noah's voice was cold, determined, and detached. This was not the voice of the sheriff; this was the voice of a father.

And to that father, Derek promised the heart of whoever hurt his son on a silver platter.

And that father would have accepted it gladly.


	5. There's a she-wolf

Erica had a list when she was younger. The list included the worst moments of her life, all at the courtesy of her epilepsy and her uncaring parents. The list was long, with the movie of her peeing herself during seizures circulating around school on top of it. When Derek bit her, she expected the list to cease to exist, she wanted to symbolically burn it. But then she realized that Derek was lost, that he was in no way the alpha he posed to be before he bit her. That whatever he promised her that day was more or less bullshit. When he bit Boyd, it got a little better, but they felt lonely even together, like children abandoned by their parent. Then there was the violence. Derek claimed that he was teaching them control, that he needed to make sure they were ready for their first full moon. She accepted it, after all, the alpha was a born wolf, he sure knew a lot about being a werewolf. It was only after she saw how Stiles helped Scott. How much better-grounded Scott was for that. And she realized once again with panic that Derek absolutely knew nothing about being a bitten wolf and even less about being an alpha.

Thus, she did not throw the list away and only added to it. There were little things like being thrown around during training and big things like ending up in Gerard Argent's basement or serving as a pin cushion for Allison's arrows.

Now, as she sat at the backseat of Jackson's car with Lydia driving them to the hospital, with Stiles's blood still staining her hands and clothes, she thought of that list and the very idea of putting what happened on it made her stomach twist.

This was more monstrous. It was unlike anything that happened to her. And she could not put it on the same page as all the other horrible things that now seemed irrelevant.

She hurt her friend. She wanted to kill her friend. She would have done that if Lydia did not scream. If she wouldn't have gotten them out of that horrible hallucination.

Not long ago, she would not expect to be able to call Stiles a friend. Yes, he was nice to her, yes, he did not join the others who bullied her, and she did nurse a pretty embarrassing crash on him that she soon realized was just gratitude for helping her and making her feel as something more than just the girl with epilepsy.

When Derek bit her, their relations gotten a little hostile at first, mostly due to Derek's attitude but also due to Erica's taste for power. She was fragile, overlooked, sick, and then she wasn't. She became fierce and sexy, and in control. And she gotten drunk on it.

But as time passed, Stiles became closer to them and their alpha. And Erica was not blind. She saw the attraction even before Derek and Stiles realized it was there. And she knew how much they owed Stiles. How much influence he had on Derek. How he worked on making them a real pack. And Derek listened to him, went to therapy for him, rebuild the Hale house for him.

Erica was immensely grateful to him for that. She needed the pack. She needed guidance. And she was finally getting it. And now…

Boyd's arms were around her, but they did not bring her comfort. He only reminded her further of what they have done. There was Stiles's blood on Boyd's face. She could not look at him.

Lydia looked calm and collected and Erica was jealous of it and a little angry at it. It ate at her that Lydia's hands remained clean. Not that she wished more harm on Stiles, but it made her angrier that Lydia knew that something was wrong. That she stopped them. Erica wanted to be the person that would see through deceit to protect her friends.

And she did not. She was a part of the problem and not the solution.

"How much longer to the hospital?"

She almost did not recognize her own voice. It was so weak, gentle, frightened. She has already forgotten that she could sound like that. Like the sick epileptic girl that wanted to become one with the background.

"Almost there."

And of course, Lydia sounded like Lydia, ever the confident, the carefully constructed collected image without a single taint.

Erica knew that this was a mask a lot of times. Lydia was strong and smart, but also neurotic and scared and fragile too, in a different way. But she had a persona to hide behind that Erica did not until she was bitten and could start using her she-wolf for that purpose.

And Erica did not know if this was a mask now, whether it is an artificial strength and she did not care. She could hardly take it.

Boyd squeezed her harder.

"Erica, calm down."

She was shifting, and she did not even notice. 

"I'm sorry."

And she meant it. But they did not know how much she was sorry for. She did understand where the emotions came from, why she was so jealous of Lydia. That girl did capture Stiles's attention when they were younger, while he overlooked Erica. That was when the resentment was born. Soon, it stopped being just about Stiles, Erica quickly understood that neither of them was going to get him.

It became something more. Much more. Lydia was healthy. The health gave her other things, like confidence that she would not just drop to the floor, seizures wrangling her muscles, robbing her of control over her bladder. Making her helpless. Lydia was never helpless. She was fierce, fire burned beneath her skin, she had a sharp tongue and all the beauty of a - how Stiles called her - strawberry goddess.

And Erica was mousy gray little girl that hid beneath her baggy clothes and slunk through the shadows. She wanted to be seen but she did not want to be seen the way she was. She had a different image inside her head that she wanted to show the world. She wanted to be Lydia. When she was bitten, she had a taste of it. A taste of what it must have been like for Lydia her whole life. And that only made the resentment grow. It did not help that Lydia once bitten did not become a wolf. Erica loved being a predator, but she hated being a monster. She hated her beta shift, the distorted features, she loved her claws and fangs and being dangerous. But that was it. And Lydia was not a monster. She was smart, dangerous, and never for a moment stopped being pretty.

This, however, was the worst. The final straw that might really break the camel's back. Erica had Stiles's blood on her hands. Lydia saved him. She felt that something was wrong. She did not go nearly feral and blind with anger. She had the power to break whatever had its grip on them. She was a hero.

And Erica was once again the monster.

She did not realize that she was growling, until Boyd squeezed her again. He was her anchor but right now it was not working as well as usually. Because he failed her. It was not his fault, she knew that. But it did not help the way she felt. She felt betrayed. He was supposed to be a link to her humanity, he was supposed to calm her down when she was about to do something wrong. He was not supposed to join her. He was not supposed to hurt Stiles with her.

"Were here."

Suddenly, Erica did not want to get out of the car. She wanted to stay inside it and pretend she wasn't even there. She wanted to pretend that nothing happened. She did not want to know how Stiles was doing in case he wasn't doing good and it was her fault. Oh god, it was her fault, and if it was bad, real bad, she could just sit here and not find out and everything would be better. So much better.

But Lydia and Boyd were already out of the car before she had the time to tell them that she did not want to go in. And Boyd kept the door open for her and she couldn't find her voice too speak. So, she got out of the car, hugged herself tightly, and followed them into the hospital, Jackson trailing behind her. He looked worse than she ever seen him. That made her angry too, Jackson had no right to look that broken. He did not put his hands on Stiles, he did not hurt him. He was just there when it all went down, did not take part in it. He should have just shrugged it off, worry a little, say something inappropriate. He should just be regular Jackson. How dare he look like he spilled Stiles's blood. How dare he partake in the pain Erica felt. He did not earn it. He did not deserve it. He had no right for people to feel sorry for him. He did not have the right to feel sorry for himself.

"Erica."

She heard Boyd's whisper that sounded a lot like a quiet scream. She took a deep breath. She was in a hospital, in a public place. She had to get a grip of herself. But the head space she was in, it was something else. She felt like on a full moon where she would go for months without one and then suddenly was subjected to a super moon. It ate away at her control. Someone need to tell her how Stiles was doing right about now. She was here, she could no longer pretend that none of those things took place. She needed something else to focus on than her swimming emotions, crushing guilt and anger, such terrifying anger. It blinded her to anything else.

"Take me to Stiles, please. Boyd, I need to see Stiles. I need to."

Boyd seemed to understand the urgency in her voice. He grabbed her hand and led her to the nurses' station. Luckily, Melissa was on duty. Erica liked Melissa, even before she became a wolf. She was a frequent visitor at the hospital, and most nurses soon became indifferent to her plight. Most did not really notice her from the start. Just another sickly kid in a sea of sick kids. Just another name, another file, another case to look at and forget. But Melissa was different. She was warm and kind and caring every time. And it was not a forced and fake kind of care, where a person would smile to your face, sickeningly sweet, and then forget your name once they turned away. No, Melissa was genuine in her care. There was warmth in her that Erica understood somehow even when she was younger. It was a warmth of someone who has been through a lot and survived. It was the kind of compassion of a person who knew what it felt like to be on the other side. To need that compassion themselves. It was palpable, like an aura around her. Once she was turned, Erica felt it even more.

Melissa did not give them time to freak out. She must have known how badly they needed to know how Stiles was, how much they needed answers.

"He did not need a surgery, just stitches. There will be scarring but he will recover. He won’t even have to stay in the hospital long. He is in C wing, room 411. He is on meds and unconscious, should come around any time now, though. Go see him."

"Is the sheriff here?"

"He is."

Erica saw Lydia nod. That was another thing. Lydia, so calm and collected, remembering about informing Stiles's father. Erica did not even think about the sheriff. She did not even spare him a thought. But she could have. She would have. If she had just a little more time to digest all that happened. If she only had a moment to collect her thoughts, she could have taken care of everything too. But she was not even given a chance, because Lydia did not need a moment to process what happened. She just acted.

That was not a line of thought that Erica wanted to explore, so she just turned around and sped off to room 411. There was a slight dizziness to her movement, her mind spinning with both relief and terror. Stiles was okay. But he would have scars. She remembered the wounds, all of them. She felt sick. So many scars. Stiles was not vain, but he was human. She could not imagine herself being able to survive something like that. Having everyone see the imperfections, the visible signs of whatever terrible thing put them on her body. She imagined all the questions, the judging and curious looks, the theories swimming in the eyes of people looking at her.

She wanted to see Stiles, to see how bad it is. She wanted to prepare. He would need her. She would be ready.

The rest of the pack that got to take Stiles here was filling the corridor. They looked like soldiers after a long battle. Their expressions were grave, and they looked all tired, weighted down by today's events. She fit in well among them. The door to Stiles's room were open and Erica saw Derek and the sheriff standing around the bed talking. She did not focus on what they were saying. She did not listen. All she noticed; all her senses focused on was the figure occupying the bed. All she saw was Stiles. Wrapped in so many bandages and hooked to some tubes. She saw the IV with blood. He was so pale; he must have lost so much of his own blood. He left so much on their clothes, on their hands, on the grass in front of the house.

She wanted to run to him, take away his pain, wake him up and apologize. But the sheriff was right there, and it felt wrong to get between them. She would patiently wait her turn. She could do that. She focused on her breathing and on the words being spoken in that little room.

Derek was apologizing profusely. The alpha sounded like she remembered from when he first bit her. Sounding like he did not think he would be heard. She thought then that he sounded tough and gruff. She knew now that he was simply lost. And scared.

It frightened her to realize that Derek was just as lost as any of them. That he did not have any extra strength or resilience that she could lean on right now. That was a horrible realization on the one hand. On the other, if Derek was as broken as they were, it made it okay for them to feel that. They could just follow their alpha's lead and be as devastated, as lost and confused as they wanted. The sheriff of course was not having any of it.

Erica remembered all the times she has seen the sheriff and somehow, despite him being through so much, and seeing so much, she saw him as a tree that did not bend to any storm. He possessed such inner strength that whenever a storm was brewing, she wanted to be near him and bask in the feeling of being protected by his sole presence. And yet, she knew that even he had his Achilles heel. It was clear that his weakness was Stiles. As much as he joked that Stiles was torturing him with all the healthy food and nagging about taking care of himself, he loved his son. Erica was jealous of that. To have a parent that would love her so much and be so protective of her, was something that she could not even imagine. She did not know how that felt. But she was also strangely protective of that special father-son bond.

As Stiles became increasingly integrated into the pack, so did the sheriff. He came around for some of the pack meetings. Invited them to his garden for a barbecue, ensured them that they could count on him had they needed him. That he would not let the system eat them up for doing their part in keeping Beacon Hills safe.

Erica was afraid how this bond they formed would be affected by what happened to Stiles. By what they did to Stiles. She shuddered when sheriff raised his voice. It felt like her worst fears coming true. They would lose this; she would lose this semblance of a parent-child bond. But then sheriff surprised her once again.

He was calm and understanding. It surprised her, she was not Stiles's mother and yet she felt the righteous anger at herself, at Derek, at anyone who allowed for this to happen, anyone who participated. She was not comprehending the forgiveness, even if she desired it. Even when it brought her relief.

She heard the oath, the promise of sorts that Derek made to the sheriff and she agreed. There was no way that whoever did this would live. But Derek was wrong. He was not the one who was going to kill them. Not if Erica got to them first.


	6. Of broken bonds

There was pain and then there wasn't. In its place there was nothing. Darkness filled with silence. And dread. Stiles felt trapped in it. In this place void of warmth, of any comfort. Logically, he knew, he was just trapped in his head. But logic was quiet, feelings were louder. He felt lost. Then he heard voices. One was comforting, speaking of safety, breaking through the cold around him. But the other, the other made him cower in fear. That was the predator to his pray. That voice spoke of wounds and pain. It carried the notes of betrayal and all-encompassing paralyzing fear.

The voices pulled and pushed at him. Drew him near and made him want to run further into the recesses of his mind. But he couldn't keep running away, the void was not limitless, it even seemed to shrink more and more as he tried to go hide in it. The darkness dissipated, sounds increasingly returned, making his head swell. His vision slowly came back; first, there was light, then there were contours, silhouettes of people standing around him. He wanted to crawl towards the one that radiated safety. Away from the other. But his body did not obey him, and he felt panic creeping in. It was getting hard to breathe, his mind was in disarray, he couldn't grasp at a single thought, he couldn't fill his lungs with enough air to make his chest stop hurting. He got his hands to move, but they were twisting uselessly in the sheet he seemed to be covered with. There was so much pain again. More and more.

The people around him were speaking. He heard their voices, but he couldn't make out the words, it felt like having wool in his ears. The predator was near him, too close, and Stiles's heart tried to beat out of his chest. He did not have enough air, the darkness waited to claim him again, but he did not want to go back there.

The other person's soothing voice was slowly reaching his ears, dispelling the fog around his mind. It was his father's voice. Stiles remembered it now, recognized it, clang to it, like a drowning man clings to a lifeline.

"Breathe with me son, in and out, slowly, that's it."

His father spoke those words in that tone to him so many times, it was a routine now. Knowledge they both had deep in their minds. His father would tell him to breathe, count the in's and the out's with him, without touching, without holding him down, and Stiles's body would listen, would obey these soft but firm commands. Even now, gripped with so much fear, the instinctual response kicked in and Stiles took a shaking breath, filling his lungs with sweet air. After that one breath, the others came easier, and with them came the clarity.

He was in a hospital. He recognized the smell, the background noise of a hospital equipment. His father was standing next to the bed. Stiles has seen him every day, but now it seemed that he wasn't really looking, because his dad seemed older than he remembered. Still strong, but tired, with a heavier burden on his shoulders. His hair were matted down, he had more wrinkles, added to the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes and mouth were deeper folds on his forehead, worry lines that Stiles must have seen many times before but didn't really notice until now.

He wanted to smile at his dad, but he couldn't quite get his mouth to cooperate, so he just squeezed the hand in his tighter.

"Good to have you back son."

The raw relief in his father's voice made him feel guilty, well guiltier than before, as that was a state that Stiles was in permanently since he was 10, but now it felt like lead, heavy and cold in his stomach. He felt the overwhelming urge to apologize.

"I am so sorry," but before he managed to speak, the voice spoke to his left, the voice that haunted him in the darkness, "I am so sorry Stiles."

Derek, that voice was Derek, on a higher level Stiles knew that, knew that Derek meant safety too, that there were claws and teeth and a lot of bark but very little bite. But right now, he was a monster, a monster that held him down and scratched and clawed at him and he felt panic rising inside him.

His other hand was trapped, the predator kept him captive by it and Stiles trashed to free himself, like an animal in a snare.

"Stiles, you'll hurt yourself, calm down. Son, please."

His father was there, and Stiles tried to let that knowledge calm him down but he couldn't. He needed to get free. The predator suddenly let him go and Stiles used that to hide into himself, to make himself appear smaller so that the monster would overlook him. A broken sound filled the room, pain and despair mixed in it in equal measures, so much that Stiles though that he made it without knowing. But it was the predator - Derek, as his mind supplied again - that made that sound. Derek that practically jumped away from the bed.

His father looked at the both of them, and there was sadness in his eyes that Stiles did not understand. Why was there no fear, why did his father let the monster in? His grip on his father's hand became vice-like, he squeezed with all his strength to get his dad to understand that they were in danger. How could he not see it, he was a sheriff, how could he not recognize it.

"I'm sorry son, but I think it would be better if you had left."

Stiles let out a cry at that, how could his father want him to leave. The air was once again difficult to take in. But then his dad combed his other hand through Stiles's hair, his familiar, comforting smell filling Stiles's nose.

"It's all right, hey, it's okay Stiles, you're safe, I am here, Derek is leaving. There's just you and me here, kid. Breathe for me."

The oppressive presence of the predator disappeared from his awareness. The wave of relief that rolled over him left him dizzy and breathless for another reason than before. He needed the solid support of his father's arms. He tried to lift himself up, crawl into the safety of his father's grip. His dad, the smart man that he was, must have quickly realize what was going on, because seconds later Stiles found himself in his dad's embrace.

"You are safe, Stiles. I've got you now. No one is going to hurt you. I'll protect you."

Stiles basked in the warmth of his dad's embrace, the smell of gunpowder, sweat, and cheap cologne that always hung around him that Stiles equaled to safety.

"Is it gone, dad? The monster, is it gone?"

"The monster?"

"Dad! Is it really gone?"

He was on the verge of panic again, holding on to his father, like an anchor. There was a howl in the distance, it sounded sad, but Stiles hugged his dad tighter, afraid. 

"Will you protect me, dad?"

His dad's first response was an even tighter hug.

"I will, you know that son, I will always protect you. But kiddo, that was not a monster, that was just Derek. You know that kid, right?"

Derek, the name that his brain was screaming at him too, Stiles knew that who that was, and as the confusion and darkness and pain receded, all started coming back to him. Yes, he knew Derek, he loved Derek, but that was not enough, not enough to break through the voice in his head that kept screaming.

"He hurt me, dad. Derek's a monster."

And then he started crying, a deep and ugly cry, unlike anything he ever did, he didn't cry like that even when his mother died. There was snot that he left all over his father's shirt, his chest heaved with forced breaths, he cried so much that it almost sounded like howling.


	7. The teen wolf

Scott was used to feeling useless, it was unike feeling weak or like giving up, doing nothing. It just felt like he was too small, too insignificant to make a real change. He tried, oh how much he tried, when his father left and his mother cried at night and worked double shifts, when his grandma fell sick and he watched her fade away, when he couldn't stand up to bullies, because they just walked over him, when his mom couldn't pay the bill or was afraid that she would lose their house.

He felt useless because he couldn't change anything. He was not stronger than death, he couldn't and maybe even didn't want to make his dad stay, as he was unable to make him stay sober. He was unable to make more money than Deaton could pay. He just tried to be less needy, less problematic, more helpful. When he couldn't lessen the burden, he just tried not to add to it.

He grew up surrounded by this feeling, his asthma only strengthening it, as it robbed him of the ability to do more than the minimum. When he was bitten, he did not see it as a blessing. He saw it as more problems. He feared that he would destroy what little they had; that he would add to the burden his mother was carrying. That he would hurt her, like his dad did. The loss of control, the bouts of anger, the shift, it all scared him, because he was a son of a man who had a different monster inside. That had no control of his actions and who used that as a shield from responsibility for what he did. Scott did not want to be that; he did not want to use shift like his dad used alcohol. He did not want to disappoint his mother by becoming a different brand of the same thing that his father was.

Then Derek came along and tried to explain to him that the bite was a gift, that the shift was a good thing. After all, it made him healthy and strong and gave him a new quality of life. But Derek did not understand his fears. He was always a wolf; he was never anything else than that. His family was made of wolves too, so he did not have to fear disappointing them or hurting them. 

And Peter, his sire, so to speak, his alpha, only made him fear the wolf within even more.

There was only hate towards what he was, hate toward the animal sleeping inside, waking up at random moments, during the full moon, when he got angry, when he was tired and fed up. And if that was not enough, then Allison came along. The wolf inside made him unable to give Allison what she needed. A safe and predictable boyfriend that is not a monster. But then, he was given one thing that Derek could not offer, that Peter would have never offered, patient guidance. Knowledge and information. A helping hand of his best friend as Stiles promised him that he would never let him slip away, become a monster. Stiles gripped Scott by the neck, and became the alpha Scott needed. Despite not even being a wolf.

It helped in accepting what he was, but at the same time it did not make it easier to be a wolf in relationship with Allison. Finding out that Argents are hunters, being almost killed by Allison's mother, negotiating a relationship with her father. All that was like a blur in his head. Again, he had one person at his side, Stiles. Always in his corner, always someone that could be counted on no matter what.

And now he was useless once again. Useless, because he couldn’t stop Stiles from getting attacked, useless because he did not know how to help the pack handle what happened. Now, when Derek was practically kicked out of the room where his mate was laying, Scott felt more useless than ever in his entire life.

They all heard Stiles's words, they all felt the pain that laced through their alpha once he heard them. The howl, sounding like it was ripped out of Derek's throat involuntarily run through Scott like electricity. It made his hair stand and his heart pound. And it hurt, it hurt deep inside and he felt so sorry for Derek. Boyd was the one who got up and put a steadying hand on Derek's shoulder, who spoke silently to him, reminding him they were in a hospital, among people who knew nothing of the supernatural. Who should be left without that knowledge. Derek hung his head down, and Scott was not sure if it was a gesture of shame or despair.

Scott wanted to do something, but he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He did not know how to help, so he decided not to make it worse. He kept patting Allison's hair and listening in on Stiles and the sheriff.

It shook him, how much pain his friend seemed to be in. He sounded so out of it, completely lost. Hearing Stiles call Derek a monster, that was probably the worst thing about this whole situation. It was jarring in comparison on how adamant Stiles was that they were not monsters, that they were human but with something extra that made them special. It was shaking the fragile foundations on which Scott built the relationship with his own wolf. It was, after all, standing mostly on Stiles's unconditional support and acceptance.

"We should leave."

Scott jumped, he forgot for a moment that Peter was sitting to his left, a sure sign of how far the feral alpha has come from the days he run around biting teenagers and wreaking havoc. He no longer felt as the same predator as he did before, and Scott managed to tune out his presence. Before, it was enough for him to enter the room and all Scott's senses were on high alert. He was a wolf, but when Peter appeared, Scott felt like a pray, scared and ready to run. Now though, Peter could sit next to him, and Scott would be relaxed and unaware that he was there. His former alpha no longer felt like a threat.

There was a murmur of protest, but it was quickly silenced by Derek.

"We look suspicious, out of place and we might create more problems for the sheriff. And Stiles..." his voice broke, and it was much more resounding in the silence that followed his first words. They all heard the sobs coming from the room. For Derek, it must have been torture. "Stiles needs some time alone with his dad, away from us."

Scott could read between the lines, and he knew that what he meant was that Stiles needed some time away from him. Derek probably already was taking everything personally. Carrying guilt even for the actions of others. Scott did not really understand that. He only ever felt guilty for the wrong things he did. He was not responsible for anyone else's actions.

And nothing that happened today was Derek's fault. If it were, he would be the first to get in his face and call him out on it. Stiles was his best friend, his brother in anything but blood, if Derek had hurt him intentionally and willingly, Scott would not let it slide, alpha or not. He would have made a fuss and there would be hell to pay. He hoped that Derek had no doubt about that. They did have a form of shovel talk when Stiles and Derek first started dating, as soon as it became clear that for all the posturing, sheriff was not going to give Derek one. He was not even going to ostensibly clean a gun with wolfsbane bullets in front of the werewolf. It was then clear to Scott that he had to take over here. Make sure Derek knew the consequences of hurting Stiles. But this. This was not a situation that would warrant Scott's intervention. Here, Derek was as much a victim as Stiles. All of them were victims. Stiles would carry the scars from it on his body, but all of them were scarred mentally. All of them were heartbroken and hurt and did not know what all this meant. Why all of this has even happened.

Allison got up first and pulled him to his feet. Scott knew there was a lot of truth and logic to Derek's words, but it felt wrong to go and leave his friend behind. Not alone, with his father, that would not let anything happen to him, but still. Scott did not like that. He wanted to be useful for once. Stand vigil against the door, soothe the fears and confusion that seemed to cloud Stiles's mind, clear from the way he spoke to his dad. Wanted to comfort his brother, who still sobbed something awful.

But he was once again useless.

And if he couldn't be the solution, he was determined not to be a part of the problem.

So he left.


	8. Banshee Queen

Lydia still felt it. The wrongness in her bones, crawling on her skin, leaving fire under her fingertips. She could hear the voices screaming in fright, in warning, but she did not know which ones she could trust. Something was still out there, among these voices, ready to manipulate her again if needed. But now she could feel it and recognize it. The influence, the voice that was not natural for her. She felt how malicious it was, and the only answer she could find for it now was magic. Whether it was a spell or a curse, she did not know but she felt that it was something magical in the worst meaning of the word.

Lydia was always ready for something to come out of the proverbial and literal woods and attack them. This was Beacon Hills. This was the home of the Nemeton, and it called to all kinds of creatures, even in its dormant state. There was a speckle of life inside it, she felt it, and Stiles felt it, his Spark responding to the power hidden in the stump of that tree. It was no wonder that other magical things were drawn to it and arrived here, rarely with good intentions. But this was the first time Lydia felt that there actually was a threat to them. First time that they were so severely affected, and they were shaken. And there was a promise for something more. She did not know what happened in the room once Stiles woke up. She lacked the wolves' superhearing but it couldn't be good. Not with how stricken Derek looked, not with how quickly he left the room, definitely not by his design, not because he wanted to. The reaction must have been bad and while Stiles had all the reason to be resentful and maybe a little bit cautious, there was no way that he would just throw Derek out of his room. There would be no fear still hanging in the air around.

She would not still feel like impending doom was hanging over their heads. Whatever this was, it was far from over. Like a physical pull, she felt the need to be close to Stiles, to sniff the air around him for the traces of the darkness that rubbed on him, look into his eyes to see what hid in the dark corners of his mind, crawl into that brain of his and dig, dig deep. Find the wrong, make it right, fix them all. The pack was broken, it needed her. She could glue it back together, if she could pull back up the one person that made them strong. So, she was chasing shadows in her head, getting to know them, recognizing their particular brand of wrong. Knowledge was power, despite people trying to belittle that saying. Knowing the enemy was half the success. Knowing how to defeat the enemy was another quarter of it. Going into a battle blind could kill the strongest of soldiers.

And they were no longer strong. Not as the blood of their own was still staining their hands and their hearts. Not when they were all lost in their heads. They could only see their pain. They did not think about the hand behind it. They were like puppets aware that they are tied to strings but too focused on what they were made to do, to spare a thought to the person pulling them around.

She knew that Derek would sooner or later get on this, he was aware that there was a different kind of monster lurking in the shadows now. A monster that put their hands on Derek's mate. Lydia did not believe that Stiles has been chosen at random. There was too much thought put into this. Someone must have targeted the alpha mate to get to Derek. 

Granted, it couldn't be excluded that this a sadist, someone who just wanted to cause them as much pain as possible. Or someone who enjoyed pulling the strings to make their little puppets dance to the tune of their liking. But Lydia trusted her instincts, and they were screaming of planned actions and plots to harm their alpha. To weaken their pack.

Her first thought as well as her last one, went to Nemeton, the damn tree, whether they wanted that or not, was under the Hale pack protection. It was in the middle of their territory, elusive and malevolent. Derek gave it the semblance of life and power, it now used to make their lives miserable. Hence, Derek was tied with it with an intricate net of co-dependence and causality. He could not turn away from this.

That was another angle that Lydia considered. If Derek awoke the Nemeton, was he the sovereign controller and protector of its power? Has Stiles been used to weaken Derek before an assault? Lydia was determined to protect her alpha, whatever it took.

But first, she needed to know.

So she followed Derek and Peter, leaving a surprised Jackson and the rest of the pack that she brought to the hospital behind. They would be fine. She needed to confront the alpha, while the memories were fresh, while the wrong feeling lingered. There was no better moment to dip her fingers in the aura around Derek to siphon the answers they needed more than air. Unsurprisingly, both Hales went to the loft instead the house.

Lydia did understand that, the thought of standing in that clearing made her shudder, and she wasn't a wolf, she would stand there in the oppressive air and feel the dread seep into her bones, but a wolf, a wolf would still smell the blood, and the fear that must have rolled of Stiles in waves, embedded in the grass beneath his body. But it also made her angry. If there was any trail to follow, what better moment than now. If they let any smell or residue of magic fade away, they will have nothing. And they could not allow for the enemy to regroup, to hide in the shadows to strike again at their own leisure.

They needed to put pressure on whatever monster was out there. It needed to feel their breaths on its neck. It needed to feel hunted, like it was only one step ahead and any mistake would make it fall into their waiting claws.

There was righteous anger twisting her insides, her mind raced as she got out of the car. By the time she stood in front of Derek's door, she was so worked up that she was ready to scream a little on her own.

It all died in her throat as she opened the unlocked door and stepped into the room accompanied by the sound of her heels clicking on the wooden floor. She was not prepared for the sight unfolding before her. The alpha, the stoic and grumpy Derek Hale, was crying. And it were not single, calm and mostly controlled tears. It was a full-bodied sob, that shook his entire substantial frame. That looked painful from where she was standing. And Peter had his hands on Derek's shoulders in a supportive gestures. She did not know if perhaps that shook her the most.

The raw pain in those cries made her falter, dampened a little the fury inside. It did not extinguish it entirely, she was burning too brightly for that. But it did make her slow down, no longer ready to give Derek a piece of her mind.

"Alpha."

It came out softer than she felt but somehow right. Derek hardly moved at the sound of her voice, too lost in his despair, too much in the grips of the crying fit.

"I don't think this is the best moment, Lydia."

Peter standing up for Derek was so new, she was stunned into silence for a moment. Yes, a lot has changed since Peter bit her and left her bleeding on the field, uncaring whether she lived or died. Drunk on power and insanity. Playing a game of chess with their lives. Or since the time, he used her to bring himself back from the dead. Sometimes, she could still recall how she felt as his little marionette. He made her fall in love, or at least feel something akin to it, with the long-gone version of himself, only to make her doubt her sanity, only to make her vulnerable to his persuasions. He knew what he was doing, he succeeded. Him standing here now, was the best proof of how good he was at manipulation.

She did not trust him, despite that Stiles seemed to do so, albeit reluctantly, she hardly even spoke to him, afraid sometimes that he could make her feel like she did back then, that he could still bend her will to his agenda. She would love to have wrapped him in wolfsbane and bury him somewhere no one would find him, in a mountain-ash coffin under seven feet of dirt.

But he was her alpha's last living family member, and the pack seemed to have assimilated him by now, like an uncle no one invited to the birthday party but that came anyway, already drunk with socks for present. So, Lydia learned how to navigate around him. Learning his patterns, pulling where he tried to push, and their dynamics worked to the benefit of the pack.

And if anything, Lydia disliked unpredictability, changes that did not fit into the scheme. Looking at this Peter, she looked for the similarities, the manipulation, the fakeness. And to her utter surprise, she found none. This was as honest and raw, as she has ever seen Peter.

She did not really believe that it was because it was Derek, who was hurting. Yes, Peter did try in his own twisted way to make up for killing Laura and hurting his nephew, but she strongly suspected that Peter was so shaken because it was Stiles that was hurt. In some way, Stiles was always in the circle of Peter's interest. Lydia knew that she was bitten because Peter wanted to get to Stiles. Granted, it was all about Scott then, but Peter would have given Stiles a bite in a second had he consented. What's more, Stiles was the only one given a choice.

Sometimes, it still was a bitter pill, that Lydia had a hard time swallowing. Nowadays, less than before, before she knew what she was, other than some bystander casualty in Peter Hale's war against Kate Argent. Now that she was embracing her powers, still somewhat reluctantly but with greater ease, she almost did not feel that heavy, copper feeling of jealousy that she was not given a choice too.

There was a time when she thought that maybe both Hales were drawn to Stiles for the same reasons. But despite Peter's shameless flirting-like behavior towards everyone in the pack, he never made a move on any of them, and she realized that this was not it. Maybe Stiles reminded him of someone he lost to the flames, or made a non-existent protective spark wake up. Whatever it was, now Peter was pale, stricken, and carefully trying to redirect his nephew's suffering to safer tracks.

"Time is of the essence here, Peter. I..." she faltered slightly at the sound of a particularly wet sob. "I understand but the tracks are getting cold, might have gotten cold already. This, this is something more. Something much more."

Peter seemed to consider her for a moment, his head was cocked to the side and he seemed to be scenting the air around her. Seconds ticked away, to the sound of an old clock hanging on her left. Her heart seemed to try and sync with it.

"There is something off about your smell."

He did not sound threatening; it was a matter of fact statement with a hint of curiosity that sparked her own.

"There are voices in my head that are not my own. Like the one that made me scream his name." She did not need to add whose name she meant.

Peter took a cautious step toward her as if he was trying not to spook her. But he did not have to worry about that. There were many things she felt around Peter now, but fear was not one of them.

"Then you, my dear, might be our best lead."

She was ready to admit he was right, as she also believed that the voices were of utter importance, if only she could learn to sort through them. But that was not enough.

No sobs were coming now from the couch. She risked a look, and Derek was sitting rigidly and unnaturally still, studying her like she was a sample under a microscope. Caught, he looked away, maybe himself scared by the intensity in his eyes. The couch creaked as he righted himself, his legs kicking at the table, disturbing the tower of old newspapers, not updated since they all moved to the house. He seemed to shrink into himself, as if sensing she was still looking at him and trying to hide from that look.

There was something utterly wrong in seeing her alpha like this. Even more considering the progress Derek made in dealing with his emotions, how resilient he became. Once again, she couldn't shake the feeling that it was wrong beyond a simple reaction to the events of the day. If only she could put a finger on that wrong feeling, if only she could pull it out like a foreign thread in the fabric of their life. If only she could study it. Maybe she could then make it lead them to the source, let them get to the bottom of this.

But the thread was obscured by others, almost masterfully woven among them. She could not grasp it yet.

"Alpha, what you feel is something more. Please, you need to fight this, and help me. We all want to find whoever did this to Stiles."

She did not expect him to jump to his feet with a roar that shook the glass in the windows.

"I did this to him!"

"Derek..."

"No, you did not see him. How he looked at me. I am a monster. I am the monster that hurt him. I did this."

She wanted to argue, but Peter caught her by her arm and pulled her towards the door. She tried to rip her hand out of his grip, but he held on tight.

"Lydia, dear, it's time for you to go."

The look she sent his way was scathing but he was relentless, and she knew better than to fight him physically, especially as it seemed that she would get no help from Derek. Peter led her down the stairs, and further towards her car.

"He would not listen."

She stilled in her attempts to get away as soon as he spoke.

"I appreciate you coming here, but it would not succeed in doing anything. He is in too deep now. Straw, camel, back, and all that jazz."

Lydia snorted inelegantly, she picked that up as a result of being too close to Stiles, way too often. His mannerisms rubbed up on her and that was mostly showing in a time of stress and under pressure, when she lost her perfect control over herself.

"We need him. We need the alpha. Now more than ever."

There was something worrying about Peter who looked thoughtful and solemn. There was a time when she wanted to believe that there was a Peter from before the fire in there. But Stiles always said that there was none, and it was for the better. Because the Peter from before was a little shit that would sell his family for power. And the new Peter, ripped out forcefully from the grasps of insanity was an improved version. That there was good to him.

She has seen glimpses but never a solid proof. Now it seemed, she was getting to see what Stiles saw.

"I will try. But it might be a lost cause for now, trying to take him to the house. Push a little too hard and poof, we'll get ourselves a feral alpha. So, Lydia, be a dear and take Scott there or Erica, or any other beta. Go, see. But for now, forget about Derek."

Then he walked away, leaving her no room to argue. Not that she really wanted to do that. There was a lot of truth to what he said. Stiles was Derek's anchor, his mate, the one person who grabbed him by the scruff and pulled towards a better life. With him out of commission and scared, and just wrong, Derek was tittering on losing his mind or his control. Both had different outcomes, but both were devastating.

Sometimes she liked to pretend that she did not need an alpha and a pack to feel grounded. Stiles called her out on it, as even though she was not a wolf, she had the same needs, to be gently guided, to belong, to be around those who understand. He made her realize through hard work and constant feed of positive reinforcement, that needing the pack was not a weakness, it was not 'needy'. She did no longer have to pretend to be above it all, the cold-blooded princess. She was a part of something bigger, brighter. And she would sooner die than let that be destroyed, taken away from them.

So she picked up the phone and called Erica. 

***

The voices in his head kept screaming. He too wanted to cry and scream and run. But he didn't. He couldn't. He drifted in and out of the void, with only his father's hand stopping him from drowning in it.

He didn't understand the disembodied voices; they were so tangled with one another. But they tried to tell him something. They were insistent. Becoming clearer with each passing moment. 

And Stiles knew fear intimately, but nothing made him more afraid than the thought that soon, he will know what they want from him.


	9. Into the Woods

The forest was dark and full of muffled, distant sounds. It filled Erica with a sense of dread. She was torn. On the one hand, sure, she wanted to find the person who made her hurt Stiles, and maybe rip their heart out but at the same time, she was willing to admit that she felt scared going there with just the banshee at her side.

Lydia still did not have a full grasp on her powers, what was probably the reason someone was able to use them against her and the pack. In a fight, she was useless, and though Erica was fierce and believed that she was capable of defending herself, she did not want to put it to the test while she still was this shaken. She should have insisted more to take someone else with them but Lydia was adamant that too many wolves would just obscure the tracks, and that she would not be able to focus with so many of them around her. Thus, here they were alone. And as much as she did not like this, there was no way she would back off.

"What are we looking for exactly?"

It came out harsher than she planned but Erica has accepted that after the bite she lost the softness to her voice irreversibly. Like it was a part of her sickness. And now she always sounded like she was ready for a fight, like she was angry. Maybe she was.

"Any traces of a foreign influence. Any lingering smells that do not fit. There is something in the air, I feel it. A residue of something."

"Like magic?"

They neared the wall of trees, and low hanging branches caressed her face, tangled in her hair, she swatted at them with her claws, cutting them clean off.

"Like magic," Lydia confirmed, leading them further away from the house and deeper into the forest.

Erica did feel that. A smell that did not linger in the nose, that she smelled repeatedly like it was always a new thing. It made it hard to identify what it was, even harder to follow it. They might have even been standing at the source of it, but she would not know it, for it did not form a trace, it did not differ in intensity. It seemed to permeate the entire forest.

"This is hopeless."

Lydia's voice startled her. Even more so did her words. The banshee was always careful in formulating her thoughts, and if there was one thing that was predictable and constant about her, was the unwillingness to admit defeat. The inability to say that the situation was bleak. She was far from an optimist. It was not optimism and pink glasses that was her driving force. It was a will to fight. Lydia was a fighter. Hearing her sound so defeated, admitting the hopelessness of the situation was jarring. And frightening.

"Maybe we could try further away from the house. Maybe we could look for Stiles's jeep, that might have been where it all started, right?"

Lydia looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking her head.

"We need to find the Nemeton."

"What?"

This time there was a slight quiver to her voice, which Erica would deny, but that did not surprise her. Nemeton had this amazing power to render them all scared. It was ancient, and from what she understood from Deaton's convoluted explanations, it was like a beacon for the supernatural. It lost its power, but Derek did something that awaken it partially. The energy, the spark it was fed was of death, darkness, pain, and blood. So, it was no wonder that its power and its influence over the town wasn't exactly of the good kind. Not rainbows and fluff, just creatures hunting in the night and dark magic.

She did not want to think how all this would look had the Nemeton awaken completely. She hoped she would never have to find out. 

"It is not a thought, it's a feeling, I don't understand why, but my mind keeps going back to Nemeton. We need to find it."

She wanted to say no, but Lydia sounded determined.

"Alright, but how will we find it."

"Not we, you will."

Erica choked on air that she rapidly took in.

"How am I supposed to find it. Aren't you the one with magic?"

Lydia snorted in a way that was so painfully Stiles, and she seemed to catch herself after she did it, cause her face scrunched up in something between amusement and disgust.

"Stiles is the one with magic, of sorts at least. I just have voices. But they are incoherent and of no help. You are a Hale beta. You were bitten by Derek and the tree responds to him."

Erica mulled over the words for a moment.

"Because he woke it up? But that does not mean that it will respond to me as well. I am Derek's pack, but does it even understand pack bonds? Should it not respond to him alone?"

"Derek woke it up with an unconscious sacrifice. It was like a ritual of binding the Nemeton to the pack he belonged to. His mother felt it, Deaton said that once, that Talia knew that the tree awoke and responded to her as the alpha. Even though she was not the one to wake her. Talia was strong, she had knowledge we lack. That's why the Nemeton started acting up after she died. To be honest, I think it gotten worse after Laura's death."

A growl was ripped from her, before she realized what she was doing. Pack instinct taking over to protect the alpha. She knew though that Lydia was right, so she stubbed whatever reaction that was in the bud.

"Talia did not wake it up, yet she felt it and could control it. Got it. But she was an alpha, and a powerful one at that. I am just an inexperienced beta. And I don't suppose you'll be of much help here. So how am I supposed to approach that. How am I supposed to do that? Tell me, I am honestly curious. No sarcasm. No hostility."

She meant it. She had no reason to doubt Lydia. Even without eerie visions and precognition that the banshee was capable of, Erica felt that this thing, this nightmare of a tree was at the center of the current events. And she really wanted to find it. But she was inexperienced, lacked a lot of proper training into becoming one with her wolf. She was overwhelmed by the surrounding smells and sounds. How was she supposed to isolate one of a mostly silent tree that was obscured from view by its ancient, malevolent magic.

Lost in her thoughts she missed that Lydia approached her, some wolf she was. She wanted to growl, bite, at the mere threat of a touch, a physical contact felt too raw in this oppressing atmosphere. But this was Lydia, somehow, she understood the source of the turmoil inside Erica. Must have recognized the signs of a wolf so surrounded by the sense of wrongness that it was incapable of processing it fully, ready to lash out at any, even unplanned provocation. She just stood there, trying to catch Erica's attention. When she finally got it, she just smiled.

"You are Derek's beta, that means you have the same ties to that tree as he does, as Talia did. She was powerful and experienced, and wise, yes, there is no doubt about that. But you are strong. Just as strong as she was. Maybe even more. You have an unbreakable spirit and reserves of strength buried deep inside. Reach for them and focus. Focus on the bonds, on all the threads tied to you. Look for one that does not feel like a pack member. One that feels slightly out of place."

There were deep reserves inside her, that was true, she tapped into them when the situation was dire enough and called for it. But that was in the moments of desperation, when she was pushed to the limit. She could not just call upon it in a calm albeit twisted surroundings, not pushed or pulled into danger. No adrenaline meant no extra strength.

"I cannot, it's not that simple Lydia. I don't feel anything."

Lydia did not sigh but she looked like she wanted to. There was an exasperated look on her face that in other circumstances Erica would love to rip of her face. It was a little condescending and that always rubbed her the worst kind of wrong.

But his was no time for that.

"Erica, focus. That bond you are searching for will try to escape from you. It will slip from your grasp every time you'll think you caught it. That's how you will know that this is it. Remember, Deaton told us that the Nemeton does not wish to be found. That's why it will run from you. But if you focus, you'll be able to grasp it long enough to get us to it."

This felt like a mistake, like something she should not do, like summoning the boogeyman and then being surprised that it did terrible things. But if there was even the smallest of chances to get some answers, she would do it.

So she closed her eyes and focused on the bonds. There was her alpha, the bond was strained but strong, like an elastic cord, it was stretched but far from breaking and the connection was still strong enough for her too feel Derek's emotions. She let go of that bond quickly, as that pain confused her, and made it even more difficult to focus on the task at hand. Other bonds kept almost jumping into her mind, clear and defined, like Boyd's, Scott's or even Lydia's. But there were more, she felt them and at the same she did not. They were elusive, covering their tracks to the point that they seemed to be a figment of her imagination. And yet she knew she felt them. Lydia's words helped, because if she did not know that the bond with Nemeton would try to escape, she would just accept that she imagined things. To be honest, she wouldn't even think about those bonds for a second.

She grasped at one of them and hissed when she felt a phantom pain. She held on but as it got clearer and clearer, she recoiled mentally away from it. That was not the Nemeton, that was Stiles. And the bond felt foreign, distant. It hurt, hurt even thinking of it and as soon as she grasped it once more, the pain hit her again. It was intense, short of mind-numbing and she did not understand why she felt it. Why did her bond with Stiles felt so weird? Why was it so faint and out of reach? She had so many questions and she could not think of any answers.

"Lydia..."

"Did you find it?"

There was something akin to excitement in Lydia's voice and for a moment Erica felt like a failure but then she just angrily shook it off. There were more pressing matters at hand than getting angry over the fact that she could not deliver what was foolishly expected of her.

"No, I think I feel it but cannot grasp it. But something else is wrong."

The scent around her soured with disappointment and worry, and Erica stumbled at the intensity of it. Lydia was good at masking what she felt, if she let go of her control like that, the situation was dire.

"What is it?"

"Stiles."

The awful smell only intensified. There was a heartbroken look on Lydia's face, and at the same time, it was like she expected that. Like she just needed a confirmation for her worst theories and Erica delivered.

"What does it feel like, the bond?"

Erica tried to grasp at it again, be as accurate as possible, she braved the pain, despite it almost bringing her to tears. When she could no longer hold on, she let go of the bond and it drifted away out of her direct reach.

"It's painful when close, it escapes from me, like it does not want to be found, does not want to be touched. It feels..."

"Wrong."

Erica nodded. Lydia began to pace, something in the nervous energy surrounding her and the erratic nature of her pacing, calmed Erica down despite it all. Lydia finally seemed human, reachable, and despite the dire circumstances, seeing her so approachable silenced a lot of voices in Erica's head. As it gotten quieter in there, she focused on the second of the elusive bonds. This time, strengthen by her previous somewhat of a success, she chased after it, and grasped at it almost effortlessly.

As soon as she did, she regretted that. This, this was darkness and terror and nightmares, all packed in a tight little bond. On the other side was a malevolent, evil thing that felt alive. And Erica was connected to it, without being given a choice in that matter, only because she chose the wrong alpha. Derek was better now, but had she known what the price would be of becoming a wolf, she would have just stayed an epileptic little mouse, hoping she would not die young. Her breath became erratic and short, she could not take enough air to make her lungs expand. Her vision swam like she was about to faint, like darkness was about to claim her and she panicked more. She did not want this darkness to take her, she did not want that darkness to be a part of her. She felt the copper taste of blood in her mouth, a telltale sign that she bit her tongue. She remembered that taste even from before she became a wolf. Her nails elongated into claws. She was shifting amid a panic attack. This was unlike anything she ever felt. But before she could slip away, she heard a scream.

It was Lydia's voice; Lydia was screaming with her banshee voice. It was a piercing sound, unlike her death cry, it was controlled, modulated, yet still frighteningly inhuman. The vice around Erica's chest loosened and she drew in air like it was water and she was on a desert. Her heart slowed down to its normal speed, and her mind cleared.

"Oh thank god," she heard raw relief in Lydia's voice, "I wasn't sure it would work, and I would probably not survive trying to calm you down any other way. What the hell happened?"

"I touched it."

"The bond?"

Before she could answer, Lydia snorted self-deprecatingly and shook her head.

"Of course it had to be the bond. What did it feel like? Can you find the stump now?"

Erica took a few more deep breaths, trying to regain her composure, and only slightly failing. She tried to recall everything about the feeling that came over her as she touched the bond, but it was not easy. Like it was already receding from her mind. She did not really want to chase that feeling that was so debilitating, but what choice did she have. They were after all doing that for the greater good.

"It felt like touching pure evil. It was a dark power that did not want me to find it. It... I cannot describe it; I am already forgetting. I cannot touch it again. I will not touch it again."

Lydia raised her hands and backed away.

"I won't make you. I am sorry. This was supposed to look different. It wasn't...," she tugged at her hair in a gesture that spoke of frustration, "It was supposed to help. I wanted this to work, to give us answers. Not just bring more pain."

Erica watched as Lydia unraveled before her eyes. It was like the proverbial train wreck, you wanted to look away but couldn't, the scale of the disaster pulling your eyes to it. The calm and collected Lydia, that only Stiles believed was capable of actual human emotions before they became pack, was crying.

She did hear about how harrowing was Lydia's process of discovering her banshee power, how Peter played with her mind like a toy to get himself resurrected. She logically knew that Lydia was just as tortured mentally as Erica was. As the rest of the pack was. But Lydia always managed to maintain the aloof approach towards those events. And now, this was like the final push towards despair. Erica always believed that the only thing that might have affected the banshee so much was screaming Jackson' s name. And yet here they were, with no one dead, and Lydia was in pieces.

Erica did not have the power of scream, but Lydia was weaker than her physically. She did not risk a bite or a scratch other than one with human nails. And from that she would heal. So, she grabbed her, startling the banshee, and pulled her closer. To anyone else, this might have been a hug, but they knew better. This was grounding, this was drawing power from a packmate. They both needed that. And they were both giving and taking. They stood like that for a while, until they both felt secure in their sanity. When the awful feeling passed, they separated. At least Erica felt that she was already standing on solid ground and she could only hope that Lydia letting go meant the same thing.

"Let's get out of here."

Lydia's shoulders dropped, and Erica understood that. The banshee really hoped to find a solid lead here and the only thing they had was the knowledge that something was trying to take Stiles away from them, distorting his bond to the pack. And that Nemeton, even if it was in the center of the events, really did not want to be found, exuding darkness and wrongness, just to be left alone. This was worse than finding nothing. Coming empty handed would mean coming back without the soul-crushing realization that things were really as bad as they thought and that the outlook was maybe even bleaker.

As they walked away, Erica almost felt as if the surrounding forests were laughing at them. And she did not know if that was the Nemeton or something else. But she did not like it. There was an energy following them into the line of the trees, of contradicting nature, pushing at her and yet almost pulling her back in. She did not share her observation with the banshee, Lydia was not leaving the forest the same as she came in. And Erica was not going to deconstruct her even further.

So she kept walking, resisted looking back, and tried to shake the feeling off that darker days were just around the corner.


	10. In your head, in your head...

His home seemed both the right and the wrong place to be. The quiet, solid presence of his dad, his musky smell, the pictures observing him from the walls made him feel safe. But at the same time, in the back of his mind, he knew that if he needed security there was a different place he used to go. Since he left the hospital, he felt the overwhelming urge to get out and just walk, walk until he would reach the preserve and the home at the heart of it. That at that house, he felt loved and cherished and protected. But anytime he got to the door, he felt the air betray him, leaving his lungs in a violent rush. His knees got weak; his heart pounded in his chest like a small animal. He couldn't even leave the house, not to mention walk anywhere. He just wanted to curl into a ball under a pile of blankets on the couch and listen to his father walk around the house. His dad took some time off work, despite being a busy sheriff. He told Stiles that he did not like pulling rank but there were situations in which he did not even hesitate before doing that. This time he didn't even have to, his officers pushed him out of the station themselves, telling him to take care of his son.

So here he was, with Stiles, cooking for him, changing his bandages, being patient when Stiles screamed his lungs out. It was two days, since he was attacked, a day since he left the hospital. His wounds itchy, painful but not life threatening. There were new bills on the pile that twisted at Stiles's stomach. He knew how they impacted their little lives. There were new wrinkles on his father's face, new weight on his shoulders. Stiles wanted to take it off him, to elevate his worries. But whenever he opened his mouth to say something, nothing came out. He could not find the words. He could not find the voice. He just lay there, wallowing in his self-pity. 

His phone blew up with messages and unanswered phone calls the moment it came back to life, but Stiles did not even touch it. What could they possibly say to make it alright? That they are sorry. That they did not mean to. Like that was something that Stiles did not know. Like he needed their apologies. They did not mean it. It did not matter. It happened. Stiles did not want to talk to them or see them. He wanted them to know they owed him nothing but neither did he owe them anything. Not even time. 

Thinking about being close to the pack only resulted in painful panic attacks, so he stopped thinking about it, both aware how wrong and unnatural it was and acknowledging that what happened was not something that he could just forget. Forgive, sure, especially since he did not feel that it was something that needed his forgiveness, but forget, no, that would not happen soon, if ever. 

On the first day, the pack tried to visit him, Scott was the first one, then surprisingly Jackson and Isaac. Allison was the one whose name was most frequently flashing on his screen. Lydia tried to Skype him, even Peter dropped by. His presence put Stiles in such a frenzy, that his dad had to hold him for an hour before he was even able to function on a basic level. The only person keeping a radio silence was Derek. Stiles oscillated between being upset that his mate did not devote even a second of his time to him and being grateful because whenever he was thinking about Derek, his brain was screaming monster at him. Beast, monster that hurt him, danger, evil. Warning bells were drowning any other logical thought and Stiles had to quickly throw that name out of his conscious mind. 

The first time he thought about Derek, he started screaming uncontrollably. He screamed until his throat was too swollen to let any sound out, his father knocking on his doors, that Stiles did not remember locking. It got better after that but not by much and Stiles avoided thinking about him as much as possible. It did not feel natural, he was painfully aware that before, before a cloud surrounded his mind and something twisted his thoughts, Derek had to be frequently on his mind. They were mates. And although it seemed unimaginable now, Stiles wanted that, agreed to that. Perhaps was even happy being Derek's mate. They were mates for a long time, so he must have been happy with that. He was not sure of it anymore.

"Hungry?"

He jumped a little at the sound of his dad's voice and then tried to cover it up by stretching, that was a mistake as it pulled on his stitches painfully and Stiles hissed. 

"Are you alright kid?"

Stiles carefully arranged his mouth into a reassuring smile. 

"I'm fine, pulled the stitches a little. What was the question?"

His dad studied him for a moment, with that look of an experienced detective looking at a suspect. Stiles tried not to wiggle, sitting still. A voice at the back of his head told him that it was wrong, that he should be moving right now. But he silenced it, other voices kept telling him not to draw attention to himself and he was going to listen to them. He was told he had no self-preservation instincts. He was going to prove them all wrong. So he sat there, his hands folded on his knees, his head cocked slightly to the side, he did not know from where, but he remembered that this gesture was making him seem as nonthreatening as possible and waited until his dad would finish his silent interrogation. 

His dad finally let out sigh that sounded suspiciously close to defeat and stopped looking at him like that. 

"I have asked if you are hungry. I could make us something to eat."

Stiles wanted to tell his father that he was not hungry, that he simply forgot how to feel hungry. The thought of food made his stomach feel heavy and brought a bitter taste to his mouth. Anything he ate tasted like paper and nothing he drank could really quench the thirst he felt or soothe his throat. His dad did say that he was screaming even in the hospital, but Stiles did not remember that. He wanted to just say no. But he remembered the increasingly worried look on his dad's face. He remembered the hushed conversation with Melissa about IVs and getting him some medication. Getting him his appetite back. So, Stiles just fell back on lying. There was a time when he lied to his dad all the time, about small things and big, monumental, life-changing things. Like werewolves, like monsters being real, like his only son flirting with death under his nose, fighting enemies that could tear him apart with their bare hands. What were other little lies then. Nothing really. Nothing much. He was so used to that, it was still somewhere in his blood, somewhere in his brain. He just had to reach to it. And he knew how to sound, what words to use, how his face should look to sell the lie as truth. 

"Sure, dad. What did you have in mind? And it better be healthy, you know it has to have some vegetables."

He laughed a little, not too much but enough to make his dad aware that it was their usual joking around. But his dad just looked sad, like he was not on the joke. Like he forgot what the joke was about. 

"Sure thing, kiddo. I will make us some salad with some shredded chicken. I think I saw some in the fridge."

Then he left, leaving Stiles curled up on the couch not really understanding why his dad did not smile. How did he make him sad? How could he fix it? He needed to lie better. He could do it. He was a master at it. 

He thought about following his dad to the kitchen, maybe helping him cut the vegetables, exchanging some lighthearted banter. Enjoying being around each other that, though unexpected and in awful circumstances, was still nice. But that would require getting out of the blanket nest, that would mean stepping out of the comfort zone, and Stiles was not ready for it. He could not imagine a time, when he would be ready for it. 

Knock on the door made him jump and then snuggle deeper into the blankets.

Stiles wanted to yell, to tell whomever it was to go away. But no sound came out, he just buried himself even deeper into the covers. Wishing the person at the door to just leave. To get the silent message and turn back. 

"Stiles!"

His dad shouting from the kitchen, the banging on the door, there was voice on the other side, screaming to be let it, it made his head feel heavy, he covered his ears to block the sounds from coming in, but they were in his head, he couldn't keep them out of it. They were repeating his name over and over. They kept shouting Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.

"Stiles, kiddo, look at me. Breathe with me, come on."

That was his father's voice, his soothing deep tones, he was there, in his peripheral view, hovering but not touching. A solid rock that Stiles could latch on.

"I don't want to open the door, dad." 

His voice sounded hoarse in his own ears, like he has been shouting, like he was not able to breathe. His dad looked at him with concern and badly disguised fear of his own. He seemed to be processing Stiles's words slowly.

"What do you mean, Stiles? There is no one at the door."

There was an honest incredulity with an undertone of even more concerned in his voice. Stiles just wanted to burrow a tunnel in his blankets and run and hide. 

"Someone was here a second ago. They were screaming and knocking. They wanted to be let in."

His father hugged him closely, tightly, almost tight enough to cut his air off. There was a slight tremble to his shoulders and his heart was beating too fast for its sound to calm Stiles down. There was static in the air, like his spark used to feel, but it did not feel safe, it did not feel like it belonged to him, it felt foreign and vaguely threatening. 

"Son, there was no one at the door." 

His dad sounded like he was carefully choosing words not to spook him. Stiles hated to seem so fragile to the point that his dad was scared to say the wrong thing. In fear of pushing him into another panic attack.

"But..."

"No one was here but I think that maybe we should call Lydia."

There was a scream of protest in his head, he did not want to see Lydia. He did not want to see anyone. But as he was about to beg his dad not to call her, not to do anything, that it was just shock, he hesitated. There was this little voice at the back of his head, a similar, safe voice that sounded a lot like himself. That voice was distant, buried under staggering amounts of panic, denial, and pain, but it was there. It did not believe him that he did not want to see Lydia. It kept nagging at him to see her, talk to her, ask her to save him, though he did not feel like he needed saving.

So he kept silent, letting his two voices battle in his head, he just sat there in his father's safe embrace, in the warmth of the nest of blankets, heavy around him. He said nothing, did nothing, when his father let go, stood up and got his phone. He ignored the shouting in his head as his dad selected Lydia's number. He was not happy with it, and he did not know why. So, he just waited.

Maybe Lydia would have the answers he needed. Or maybe she would make the waters around his mind even more murky. But he just wanted the decision out of his hands. 

He sat patiently all through his father's phone conversation. Attempted a smile as his father told him Lydia was on her way. But most of all, he tried to rein in the awful feeling that Lydia's visit would only make everything worse, to take control of the urge to scream and to silence the insistent voice in his head that asked him to open the door.

That asked to be let in.


	11. Big bad wolf, yeah?

Derek replayed the events of that faithful day so many times that he no longer had to do it consciously. They were playing in his head like a movie he did not want to watch but couldn't look away. He remembered every single scream, every single sensation, how Stiles looked underneath him. How shallow his breaths were, how red the blood. He could think of little else.

Peter was a constant presence at his side now. Death and fire left on his uncle an irremovable mark. Time spent around the pack in relative peace after losing the alpha spark did him some good, and for the lack of better word, it could be said that Peter mellowed out. It hadn't made him softer or saner. It just made him less threatening, surprisingly also more protective towards certain pack members. More specifically, Stiles and Derek. He was not too shocked that Peter was a little more protective towards him. For a while now, he accepted and believed that his uncle did not really want to kill Laura, that he really did it in a moment of insanity and that it haunted him. Sometimes, when he looked at Derek, there was something in his eyes, in his face, like regret, like a silent apology.

Stiles was a little more surprising. His mate was a loudmouthed, sarcastic little shit, that took a stand for what he believed in and did not let anyone bully him into changing his mind. He was a person that would get in your face and yell at you till he turned purple if he thought you were in the wrong. There was a lot that could be said about his mate, and he knew that some called him annoying, but those were the qualities that the pack cherished about him. Peter, though, the old Peter especially, valued submission and following orders, and wanted Stiles to follow him like a good beta. He threatened him more than once but, surprisingly, never followed through and, even more surprisingly, allowed him to remain human, to reject the bite that Peter saw as an ultimate gift. Stiles saying no, was like spitting in the then-alpha's face. And yet Stiles not only lived to tell the tale, he also quickly became Peter's favorite in the pack.

Normally, Peter liked to be more pack-adjacent than a part of the pack fully, he came and went as he pleased. He was increasingly reliable, and they could count on him when he was needed. But more often than not, he kept to himself.

So now having him around all the time was both nice, as the familiar bond was soothing the anxiety inside Derek, and weird. He was not used to being so close to his uncle. And Peter was trying to use this familiarity now, to get him to act, to do something. He kept on talking of the importance of catching traces, supporting the pack, reconciling with Stiles. But Derek was unable to think about it. To really listen to his words. Because it was unimaginable, he was incapable of going to the house, where he almost killed his mate, the one person he would probably die without.

He could not face Stiles, as terrible as the knowledge that he hurt him was, it was nothing compared to the pain of those first words after he came to in the hospital. Stiles has always seen a human in him, he kept telling Derek that he was not a monster and even if then Lydia's 'not all monsters do monstrous things' fit Derek perfectly. He was not afraid of him when he was shifted, would stand up to him even on the full moon if he believed that Derek was doing something stupid. He would stand by Derek's side as his mate, his spark, emissary. Unafraid and in love. Hearing that person, that voice call him a monster. Hearing the fear directed at Derek, seeing the trembling hands, his mate reduced to a child in his father's arms, asking for protection. Protection from one he used to call the love of his life. It was tearing him to pieces even now.

And Peter kept telling him that he should go see him. As if that was a viable option. Because Peter did not see Stiles's face. Because he did not really listen to his voice. So, Derek kept saying no, kept his phone out of Peter's reach and literary assaulted him as Peter tried to drive him to the Stilinski's home without his consent. Peter still did not forgive him for that one.

And now he had to sit and listen to yet another tirade by his uncle on how they should get all together, try to heal this wound before it festered.

"No, I have already told you Peter, no pack meeting. No getting Stiles here. No."

Peter sighted, heavily, like he has been doing for the last two days. He was visibly exasperated and a little more than upset, but by now Derek knew that he would not press on the matter. He would just let go but return to the subject at any given occasion whenever he saw a window of opportunity. When he suspected that Derek's guard was down. Hence, Derek always made sure to keep it up, despite how tiring it was. How exhausted he felt inside. The sudden cut-off from the pack, though voluntary, was not helping. Hence the company of his uncle was both a blessing and a curse. It did help not to be completely alone, to have family at his side, but it was at the same time like living with the enemy. That kept you in a constant battle-like state of mind.

Lost in his mind, he missed the first signs of an approaching pack mate. The knock on the door made him aware that his skin was crawling with the awareness of another were in his territory. But the crawling was familiar and harmless, maybe that's why his wolf did not react to it. It was unwelcomed though. But before he could react, his uncle was already opening the door and letting Erica in.

Derek couldn't help but growl, and that instantly lit her up like a match thrown at an oil barrel. She roared at him, flashing her beta golden eyes. He felt himself respond, red flooding his vision. He roared back at her, surprising himself with the vehemence of it, at the very real threat he put in that roar. But she did not back down, did not bend her neck in submission to her alpha. She stood strong. Derek was placed in a deadlock that could only be solved with a fight with his beta, which he did not want or with taking a step back and submitting, which was also not an option. So, they stood there immobile, Mexican standoff, both growling and flashing their eyes.

Peter once again intervened, stepping foolishly between them but having enough sense to keep his back to the alpha. A sign of submission. And a lot of blind trust, given Derek's current state of mind. He placed a hand on Erica's shoulders, but it was by no means a gentle gesture as Peter's claws were out, threatening to pierce her skin. Despite the previous growling, Derek was not happy with seeing his beta threatened with violence, even though, it was what he was doing as well. So, he grabbed at Peter and pulled him away from Erica. That seemed to calm the situation down somehow, having a good influence on all of them.

Erica huffed out a laugh, her eyes going back to their usual brown, Peter's claws were gone, and the red haze subsided from Derek's eyes, his attitude towards his beta changing slightly. He still did not want her here, but he was shocked at his willingness to resort to violence just to have her out. With his fangs no longer in the way, it was easier to speak.

"What are you doing here? I told you all to stay away."

She made a face at him that he recognized all too well. Erica was not one to just follow his orders, her whole life she was a weak, sick pushover, either overlooked or bullied. When he bit her, she was not just going to fall into the same pattern, she would not see herself pushed or bullied into submission, she did not respond well to his brutal training and she did not listen when he growled or used his alpha voice. She got in his face and called him out on his bullshit. As much as Stiles was responsible for most changes in him, Erica was responsible for the rest. They were the only two pack members that had a tangible, actual contribution in him becoming a better alpha and a better person.

So, he really shouldn't be surprised at all that here she was now, ready to get all up in his face again and call him out. She made no mystery of the fact that his imposed ban on the pack coming to the loft was bullshit, in the most vocal way of all the betas. He knew that she would be the one to break his rules, to disobey. He should have expected this and yet it caught him off guard. Maybe he was so pumped up for the verbal spars with Peter, to make sure that he was ready for any sneaky attack or another attempt to get him to Stiles, that he has just forgotten that he had other people to worry about.

"Staying away will not make this disappear. And isn't it Stiles's forte to ignore the problem until it goes away. Isn't your normal reaction to roar in its face and jumping head first into the fray."

Hearing Stiles's name always brought him pain, ever since that day, so he recoiled slightly, but tried not to show weakness in front of Erica. Somehow, he felt that she would not be above exploiting it if she believed that this would get things to go her way. So, he pushed through it.

"And look where it got us, after I charged in. Maybe I realized that not everything can be solved with violence and screaming. Maybe you should learn that too."

Erica smirked, clearly in dismissal, and shrugged.

"Maybe. But let me tell you something, alpha. You don't get to sit this one out. It's too big. Bigger than your turmoil, guilt trip, or whatever you have going here."

There was a roar coming, he felt it, so he clamped his teeth and swallowed it back, pushing it down, not letting the wolf take control. Erica meant well, she was his beta, he made her, he would not hurt her, he would not hurt anyone near him again if he could help it. So, he dug his claws in his tights, letting the pain ground him. It might hurt to listen to what she had to say. But she sounded serious and a little desperate beneath her bravado, as if the old Erica was peeking in through that hard, confident shelf his beta build around the more vulnerable parts of herself. So, he stood there, with drops of blood running down his legs, with the roar trapped inside him, and he listened.

Peter stood by his side, a silent observer, and Derek knew better than to expect his support in shoving Erica out. So, he just nodded at his uncle and then at Erica as he did not trust himself enough to use his words.

That was all she needed apparently, these words must have been growing inside her, the energy pent up and ready for release.

"On the day it happened, we went to the preserve with Lydia. You, I don't know, if you know that. Lydia was here before."

He remembered, but he was not in a state to talk then, all the pain and confusion too raw, too intense. He just knew that Lydia was there, her angry energy filling the loft, there were words spoken hastily, Peter escorting her out and them talking behind his back. They were not out of his earshot, but he was so far gone, hidden so deep inside himself that the words did not reach him. And later he just locked the door and told Peter not to let anyone in. He turned off his phone. He cut himself off.

And Peter somehow obeyed him then, maybe feeling that in the state he was in, Derek was not a good partner in any conversation. And that letting Lydia in would have a detrimental effect rather than helping in anything. For that he was grateful, and it might have been the reason why he was willing to talk now. He was given time to process.

"Lydia said that Nemeton might be the key to all of this. I thought you should know that. Lydia doesn't know how and why. But that's what she thinks. And I couldn't wait any longer for her to find out more. I had to come here."

Nemeton. The beacon. The thing that called out to all the monsters, the place that witnessed one of his greatest tragedies that kicked of a lengthy line of great tragedies. Blood of an innocent coated his hands, and he was given the blue eyes, the mark of a killer. He painted the target on his back and on the backs of his family. Therapy and Stiles made him admit that a lot of things he felt guilty for were not his fault, but he knew that there was his small participation in it. His contribution was that electric blue the hunters saw. And the hunters came for him. If only it were not the Argents, not Kate, then he might have lost only his own life. And he would not admit that to Stiles, but he would accept it as fair.

His sacrifice woke the dead tree up, he did not know it then, he did not know that his mother felt it and kept it contained. She must have believed that she would be around until Derek was old enough to be told of the significance of what he did. Sometimes he wondered if Laura knew. She never told him and made no suggestions that she could but it was possible, she was the next in line to be an alpha. She died without telling him any of the secrets their mother shared with her. Hearing about Nemeton from Deaton, it was a punch to the gut. He was not ready then to bear such responsibility on his shoulders. Sometimes he even forgot about the tree altogether.

Was this the price of his ignorance, of him completely pushing aside such a threat to focus on other things, also important, but slightly less sinister. He neglected the beacon. So, did it now reach out to something equally malevolent? Did Derek's inexperience and lack of knowledge cause this? Was he the one maybe not guilty of but responsible for what they were going through? Next to the overwhelming guilt for putting his hands on Stiles, this would be another unbearable burden. And he had no influence on whether it would fall on him or not.

"Why does she think it’s the Nemeton?" 

Erica looked conflicted for a moment like she wanted to say something but did not know whether she should. That alone made his heart stop and resume work at a faster pace. He wanted to shake the words out of her but stood patiently, not wanting to scare her into clamping up. The thought that his action could scare Erica into not telling him the truth made his insides cold.

"Lydia wanted me to focus on pack bonds and find the odd one out, the one that would run from me. That would be the Nemeton."

Derek felt the bond sometimes, mostly on the full moon when it was the strongest, tended to forget about it what probably was the doing of Nemeton itself, and he sure did not know that the rest of the pack would be bonded to it as well. Was that not the burden only for the alpha to bear? He must have spoken aloud as Erica answered his question.

"We are all bonded to it, as we have you as our alpha. Apparently, according to Lydia, that was enough to be bonded to that hellish stump as well. But that's not important. I would not have felt it if I did not look. It's subtle, it does not attack you. It’s just like there is this wrongness somehow inside, but you don't know where it comes from, don't know why you feel it, what is bothering you."

She looked at Derek, her solemn expression frightened him. It was a different Erica than he has ever seen. This was not a lost girl or a fierce warrior. This was a girl who has seen a lot and came out stronger and wiser and more considerate. This was a true werewolf beta, and had he not been so frantic to know what she knew, what brought this out of her, he would be beaming with pride right now.

"It's the bond with Stiles. I think what you are feeling now is more than just feeling bad for what happened. More than feeling bad that Stiles got scared of you. I think something messed with his bond, when we felt it break. And when we got him back, we did not stop and think about it. We did not look at it. Derek," she took his hand in hers, spoke softer than he ever expected her to be able to, like she was speaking to a frightened animal, or one that was hurting, "it will be bad, it will feel awful, but you have to reach for that bond. You are affected the worst because he is your mate and you are the alpha. So, you have to reach for it. You have to see."

He wanted to say no, he really did, something inside him already knew that the bond between him and Stiles felt more like a festering wound than a loving connection it was. A part of him wanted to remain oblivious to that. But that part of him had to shut up. It would not be tolerated, because Derek wanted to get back what he had, wanted to close his eyes and wake up in the bed with Stiles, kissing him lovingly before breakfast, eat dinner with the pack, go for a run, watch some movies together. Feel like a family again, be happy again. And if he wanted that to ever become his reality, he had to work for it. He squeezed Erica's hand. Peter must have also felt he needed support, Derek must have been projecting it with his body language, so there was a hand on his shoulder squeezing it, anchoring him.

He closed his eyes and focused. All the bonds between him and his pack were a little strained due to his enforced isolation and separation but still vibrant, strong. He drew strength from that when he searched for the one bond that meant the most to him. The one that he already knew what it felt like to lose. It was an indisputable evidence that something was amiss that he had to focus to find it because that bond was always at the forefront, always the strongest. And now it slipped from his grasp whenever he got near it, he felt wrong even trying to catch it, he could not imagine how it would feel caught, but he suspected it would not be good.

His suspicions were quickly confirmed as just a moment later he finally got close enough and embraced the bond with his mind. Where it used to feel hot and like a part of him, now it felt cold and foreign and it hurt. This was not the bond he had with Stiles, this was something awful, an abomination, twisted, evil thing. As he felt it, Derek started screaming. Peter and Erica were on him in a second, Erica hugging him, and Peter holding him closer, both hands on him now. They soothed him until he came back to his senses. Something felt broken in him, but now he did not have to guess what it was, he knew, he knew that this was the deformed bond. 

"How, how is that possible?" his voice sounded small, scared even to his own ears.

Derek would have felt shame for letting Peter and Erica, his betas, see him this weak, but he had no capacity for that feeling, he had no strength to feel anything but this broken convoluted feeling, combining both fear and pain. So, he was not ashamed, he was clinging to them to stop himself from falling.

"The bond was not really broken; it was twisted with magic so much that for us it felt like it snapped. Lydia says that it did not escape the magic unscathed, that it did not grow back right."

"This is not good."

"Peter?"

His uncle looked at him and the look on his face turned Derek's blood cold. Something was very wrong.

"We need to go to Deaton."

* * *

It felt wrong, wrong to keep saying no. To hide from the voices. They were pleading, calling to him. Desperate. Lonely. Waiting for him to let them in. It felt wrong to deny them.

But he did. He still did. But even to his ears, the 'no' sounded weaker and weaker.


	12. The loneliest people are the kindest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does not really push the plot forward but I wanted to give voice to Boyd. I love Boyd, he deserved so much better.

It was never about strength or speed, or any of the heightened senses. For Boyd, it was about not sitting at lunch table alone, about not spending weekends alone in a house that did not feel like home since Alicia disappeared. He was not allowed to say she died, and he was not allowed to forget that it was his fault. He read books, sat in his room, tried to be even more quiet. He felt soul-crushing lonely. It sucked the life out of him. It was so bad that Boyd felt like a shadow of a person, like a spectator in his own life. He drank up every little bit of attention, but it was all too small, like drops of water trying to put out a fire. It couldn't quench his thirst. That's why what Derek promised him, enticed him so much. He knew that Scott was meaning well, when he wanted to stop him, he understood where Scott was coming from. In some ways, he did not want to be a wolf, he did not want to lose control, did not want to be hunted, or submit to the alpha. But there were aspects of becoming a were that were enticing, that he could not say no to, and that was the feeling of belonging. The bonds that were between the pack members. And yes, being Derek's beta was nothing like he imagined, it had been falsely advertised to him. And he did not like being a were. But they got closer, and he found love in Erica. In her strong unbreakable spirit of a person who has been through hell and emerged on the other side wiser and stronger for it. He had a pack. It was imperfect, it was messy, his life has been threatened more than once, he was kidnapped and tortured. He was afraid he was going to die.

But it was all worth it. Erica understood it somewhat, but even though she and maybe Isaac could relate to wanting to have a place to belong to, they too failed short at understanding the depth of his need, the intensity of it. He knew, deep down, he knew that things are going to get better, because he was thriving on being in a pack. Despite all the bad stuff, he was living his best life. And then it did get better.

He found a friend and a mentor in the new, improved Derek. He was surrounded by people and they saw him, they recognized his yearning to be with others and he was rarely alone. Pack bonds, that was what he loved the most, made him feel warm inside, it was the knowing that they were out there, his pack, his friends, that kept him going.

Now, it was all falling apart, Erica was a mess, Derek was in a really bad shape, Isaac has closed off, reliving in a way his darkest memories, he never felt close to Scott and Allison, he liked them but they were not his rock nor his go-to-people, Peter was with Derek, and to be honest, he was still not planning on getting cozy with the former alpha. Jackson rubbed him in all the wrong ways and Lydia seemed too distant. Boyd was back to having no one around, no one to chase away the loneliness, it felt even more oppressive because he forgot about how it felt, he has not been on its mercy for so long that to experience it now felt like a betrayal. Like an agony.

And it all came down to one person, Stiles. Stiles, next to Erica of course, was one of his favorite people, and Boyd truly did not see that coming. He had those little run-ins with the guy before he was turned and that was nice, so he did not exactly see him as the enemy, but it was still far away from considering him a friend. When he was bitten, the contact has gotten a lot more hostile, though not so much as between him and Scott, a lot stemmed from the fact that the three of them, Derek's original betas, as Scott and Peter, used to call them, were ready to kill Lydia, would she turn out to be the kanima. And Stiles had a lot of admiration for Lydia, and maybe a crush before Derek came along, so that was bound to make him a little resentful towards Boyd and the rest. But a lot of the negativity was caused by the circumstances they found themselves in and once the dust settled, and the kanima was turned to one blue-eyed werewolf, it got better.

In that time, Boyd learned a few things about Stiles, how loyal he was, how fierce in his protectiveness, he burned hot like a sun with the intensity of his feelings, and Boyd liked being near him, it chased away the remnants of his loneliness and doubts. Stiles was also stubborn and once he set his mind on something, he was very adamant and determined to get it done. And as he was in love with Derek, requited love, which was something of a shock, and wanted all that's best for him and his pack, he was doing everything in his power to make them better, put them on the right track. Have them survive.

So, Boyd slowly but steadily fell into a brotherly, friendly kind of love with Stiles. Seeing him bleeding at their hands, having a part in that, tasting his blood in his mouth was painful, but not as painful as feeling the loss of the bond with him, and not as painful as what was happening now. The bonds felt weaker. They still were warm and vibrant but since their alpha imposed a self-isolation on himself, they were strained, and they did not make him feel a part of something anymore. And when Erica told him about what she felt in the forest, he was obsessed with the bond between him and Stiles.

He felt at it, poked it like a healing wound that itched, like an infection that needed to be inspected from every angle. He was almost like a scientist examining a substance he did not understand under a microscope, disregarding his personal safety and discomfort. It was not pleasant, it brought him no answers, but he needed to do that. It filled the void inside him, with the wrong kind of feelings, with the sensations of drowning in hurt, but it beat feeling empty, so Boyd just held on and tried not to lose too much of himself to that feeling.

It was addictive in a way, because it got to every gap, every empty space in his soul, gave him purpose, made him feel like he was doing something when Derek was not. He wanted to be angry, to confront the alpha but that was not his thing, that was always Erica's forte. He was just focused on surviving, on being a part of something without introducing chaos to it, without disturbing the peace. He just wanted to help. So, he focused on solving this one mystery, like it could make everything better, like it could heal the wounds they inflicted on themselves and that were inflicted on them.

But he could not understand what he was feeling. He did not have Lydia's insight nor Stiles's magic, he did not have Deaton's experience and knowledge, he was just a beta, drawn into this world of supernatural but not educated in its intricacies and secrets. So, whatever he was seeing, he did not know how to interpret it and he did not even know whether he found something useful. Isaac once told him he must be a masochist and that he would not touch that bond with a stick because he had experienced enough pain to last him a lifetime. Why would he want to willingly cause himself more of it? But Boyd disagreed, it was not masochism, he was not deriving pleasure from this pain, he was not in it for the pain, he was in it despite it. He was willing to power through it, because he would never forgive himself if there was a revelation at the end of the road and he would turn back and give up right before it.

So maybe he could not decipher the signs, maybe he did not have the knowledge to know what all this meant, maybe he really was doing something pointless and hopeless. But he couldn't risk it, he couldn't just assume it, there was hardly ever any situation in which doing nothing was the best thing to do. Maybe he would not find out what caused Stiles's bond to become so frail, so wrong, but maybe, by grasping at it, by trying to pull it towards him to study it, Boyd could actually fix it. Make it strong and normal and beautiful once more. Maybe that was the key. Maybe all of them should try to do that. But since he could not get to them, he just did it himself.

He had no way of knowing if it did anything because getting to Stiles was impossible. First, Derek forbade them to go anywhere near him. They tried calling, texting, skyping, but there was only silence on the other end. Then there was sheriff. He was understanding and nice and did not go off on them for hurting his son, but at the same time, he tried to grant Stiles his wish of not seeing anyone, so he kept them away, at an arm's reach. He said he understood their want to see Stiles, to reassure themselves that everything would really be all right in time, but they had to understand that his son was a priority to him. Boyd envied that as for his parents he was an afterthought. Alice was always first on their mind despite not being there. Maybe if he were lost and then found, they would have cherished him and forgiven him. He would be a survivor, not a reminder of a failure. So that kind of father-son bond was something out of a dream. And he would not contest sheriff's will, despite wanting to see how it affected Stiles, the thing he did to the bond, see with his own eyes if it was getting him back to them or pushing him more away.

It worried him sometimes that maybe Stiles was in pain too when he poked at the bond, that he was hurting him more, after he vowed that nothing like that would ever happen again that he would not be the one to hurt Stiles ever again, cause him even a minimal amount of pain. That thought, it was weighing on him something crazy. It was the only thing that could have gotten him to stop.

"Are you doing it again?"

Isaac's voice startled him as he did not hear him approach. It was not unusual for him to lose focus, even before all that happened, he sometimes got lost in his thoughts so much that he would miss another wolf being near. It spoke a lot about the level of trust he placed in those guys. But these days, these days Boyd was almost sure that he would let even an enemy sneak up on him. He had more pressing concerns on his mind.

"Yes."

"Boyd, listen, maybe you really should stop. It does not do you any favors. And it's stupid. Should the bond not feel better right now, seeing how you are poking at it every single day for hours on end. Come on."

Boyd did see the truth to Isaac's words, he understood on some level that if nothing has been changing then that means that he was not making any difference but at the same time, Rome was not built in a day. What was done to Stiles, was nothing ordinary, nothing small, maybe for a wound this deep, this big, the healing process had to be long and tedious and painful. And Boyd would rather do his part, pull his weight than just complain and do nothing. He did not care if at the end there would be a "I told you so" from Isaac or a thank you from everyone or nothing at all. He was not doing it for a recognition. He was doing it because it was the right thing.

Isaac did not seem bothered by his gruff response, granted Boyd was never the most vocal person, so the pack members were used to that, they also often did not expect an answer out of him.

"And if your theory is right, I think it would make the most difference if Derek was doing that. You know, as Stiles's mate."

"I am his friend."

"I know big guy," the nick name sounded weird directed at him and spoken by Isaac, "but that might not be enough. This is some heavy stuff. Even Lydia does not get it. So, you know, definitely not easy."

The words hung between them, and Boyd looked at Isaac like he knew that Isaac did not just suggest that Boyd was too dumb to get what was going on. Isaac had the decency to look away. But did not retract the words. They settled heavily between them. For a moment, silence was all that could be heard until Isaac cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Boyd, you know that I... look, I know you are worried, we all are. But this is not something to be solved by hurting yourself. Sheriff called Lydia to come."

That got Boyd's attention.

"Apparently something was going on, we were together at that time, with Allison, you know."

Boyd knew that the two of them sometimes got together, Allison and Isaac, both orphaned recently, with Isaac losing his dad and Allison her mother, carved a little separate niche for themselves, their own little miniature support group. Boyd was tempted to ask them to let him join. He might as well be an orphan, seeing how he was treated by his parents.

"Lydia called her and said that sheriff sounded worried, and that he wanted her to come."

The lump in his throat was unexpected, he could not swallow it, could feel the air fighting its way around it. If it was getting worse, was it his fault? Or was his work worthless, useless. 

He closed his eyes and focused again, ignoring Isaac, ignoring his own panicked thoughts. Did he miss it? Did he miss the bond getting worse, was he feeling for it too often to see the change?  
Just now, before Isaac disturbed him it felt like it always did, but as he felt for it now, it was like wool was pulled from his eyes, and he saw it. It got so much darker, and the pain was like being burned. Boyd screamed and screamed, he felt Isaac pulling him in and holding him tight, but he could not help screaming. 

He kept screaming long after the bond slipped from his grasp and faded away in the dark corners of his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for kudos and comments, they really keep me going :)  
> And I should have put that disclaimer earlier: I own nothing, I am just playing in someone else's sandbox because I did not like some of the things in the series. The characters belong to their original creators.


	13. Once an emissary, always an emissary

Being an emissary to Talia Hale was an honor. It was a chance given to a young, inexperienced druid, he did not expect it, he did not expect one of the most powerful and influential alphas to be such a kind and warm woman. There was strength to her, a steel like quality that Deaton admired. But she was also a head of a big family, a good, devoted mother, an understanding and lovely wife. She was every good trait packed into one person. She had her faults too, of course, she was stubborn, secretive, she demanded those around her to be loyal to the family and put it first. And her children were her blind spots.

That was one of the reasons she was now dead, and the Hale pack was more of a skeleton or even a zombie version of the pack it once was. But Deaton would rather and sooner die than abandon his post as the emissary. It did hurt, going on without her, she was something like a big sister to him, he would have treated her like a mother, but she was not that much older than he was. It would have been weird.

When Peter Hale bit Scott, it in a way reawakened Deaton, got the blood pumping again. With the remaining Hales in New York, he was abandoned on his post. Left to guard the territory that was looking increasingly abandoned. He resigned to just being the vet in Beacon for the rest of his life, his supernatural role fading into the distance. But as Scott came along, it was both a disaster and one of the best things to happen to Deaton. He felt a bit of shame to think so, to put the well-being of another person below his own, dare he say, happiness. But he could not deny that he had to feel needed. And Scott needed him very much. But quickly it turned out that Deaton was not the best to guide a new wolf. He did not know how much to divulge and how much should have been left unsaid. It was a fragile balance.

It came with the territory, druids kept the wolves tied to their humanity, but they themselves belonged to a different world, world of magic and forbidden knowledge and self-discovery. A world with much stricter rules. Talia, as an experienced wolf, needed his presence, his wise advice when she was on the fence, that was what his role was reduced to. Scott needed more, should have been given more. Deserved more. But Deaton was learning what it meant to guide a young wolf on the job, among emergencies, in distress. Seeing a dead Laura and a broken Derek, feral Peter. It was a lot to take in, too much even. And Deaton broke down and failed. He knew that, was painfully aware of it. If he could turn back time, he would do a few things different. Would have helped more. He might have helped a few times, but the kids did all the work. Stiles did most of it, he was one that grabbed Scott by the ears and tugged him through the worst, tamed the wolf in effective, non-violent way that shocked the druid.

They handled a kanima, a deranged hunter and his equally, if not more, psychotic daughter, took down a feral alpha, helped Lydia control her banshee powers and built a pack out of survivors, or victims as someone who did not know them would call them. But they were not victims, they were beaten down by life, yes, but they had the spirit of those who can walk through hell and not fall. And spines of steel. Deaton in equal parts admired them and feared them. Feared what they could do, could achieve if they were ever corrupted. And that might be upon them, as he listened to the song of the Nemeton.

It was a ticking time bomb. Deaton was sure that it would explode sooner than later, and his fears were confirmed when the door to his office nearly burst open and the Hales entered. Erica followed the two man. Their faces were grim, what was not surprising considering the recent events, but also determined. And Peter's face looked so serious that Deaton felt the chills down his spine, despite his disposition to calmly deal with danger.

"To what do I own the pleasure?"

"No time for pleasantries. Tell me druid what do you know about our family connection to Nemeton."

Deaton was not alone in his surprise. Derek also looked at his uncle with shock on his face. Apparently, the younger Hale was operating on the same premise as Deaton that Peter was not in on the secret.

"Ah, see, I know my sister confided in you, well, most of the time. I believe it is also safe to assume that you thought she did not confide in me."

The smirk on Peter's face felt dangerous. Deaton was not a fool, he knew that despite becoming a part of the pack, Peter was more pack-adjacent and he definitely did not mellow out. He was not someone to cross. And though Deaton was almost sure he was now counted among the few people on Peter's list who were safe around him, the time spent at Talia's side as her younger, weaker brother might still be a thorn in Peter side along with all those that reminded him of it. And that included Deaton.

And probably Laura, to the crazed mind that Peter had after the fire.

There was no room for a battle of wits here, sarcastic remarks or any other games. Not with Peter, he was a master of that element, an experienced warrior and Deaton was not about get sucked in into Peter's domain.

"Talia told me, she said that since Derek woke it up, it latched onto the family, it was responding to her but not listening. It was like a battle of wills."  
That was probably the most honest and outspoken he was with anyone of the "new" pack, including Derek and Peter but something in them made him open up. Something that spoke of urgency and threat and it made the hair on his arms rise up and sweat pool at the back of his neck.

"Ah yes, yes. That was what she called it when she spoke to me. A battle of wills, that she won every time, because she was such a great alpha."

There was bitterness to Peter's tone, but also something like nostalgia. Like speaking of someone who irritated you but whom you greatly missed.

"That's what the tree does, it searches for a connection and tries to fight its way in, but Talia wrested it into submission, and then died. And it could not latch on anyone. Not on me, catatonic and insane, incapable of listening to it. And not on the two brats in New York. It had no one left."

That was surprisingly insightful, though Deaton should not be so surprised where Hales were involved. They were a family full of knowledge, obscure references, power, even though it lay dormant for a while after Talia died. Her death causing a ripple effect of pain and loss and weakening.

"The pack was not ready, not strong enough when it was formed, the bonds were weak, developing, and stretched thin. Scott did not feel it because he rejected the bond with Peter, and my betas were kept at a distance too great to be influenced. And then it changed."

Deaton knew exactly what Derek meant about changing. There was that moment when breathing in Beacon became literary easier, when the supernatural creatures gathered around with the remaining members of the hunter's clan and became one strong pack with allies and support. And that was when the bonds became so healthy, so bright and strong that the darkness could not reach them. That was when the alpha became so assured in his role, so full of power given to him by his pack members, by his betas, by his mate, that he wrestled with the tree, unconsciously even and won.

"What brings us to this moment."

Peter looked solemn, serious, even more than before he even started talking, right after they came in. And Deaton was already connecting the dots. And he did not like what was emerging from that picture.

When Derek awoke the long dead tree, Deaton felt hopeful. Nemeton used to give the town so much life, its loss was a tragedy to the supernatural community and the regular townsfolk. Its dying stole a little bit of magic with it and drained the life out of the area. The town became smaller, people left, not knowing why but feeling the urge to do so. The town was pushing them out, and most of those who left were supernatural creatures, Beacon Hills no longer calling to them. The Hales settled in not long after, Deaton did not remember this, his grandmother told him. The pack must have felt that the place needed their protection. Deaton was not born yet when Nemeton was cut down, and he did not know how it would feel to someone like him, a druid, to have a tree like that in the same area, to be able to draw power from it, to gather under its roots with others such as him. To give power to the nature around him.

But his hope quickly faded away. There was something sinister about its energy, it was frightening, Talia sometimes described the feeling as wrestling with darkness, and Deaton felt it the same way. He was struggling sometimes and was unsure whether any darker thought he had, any silence when he should have said something, every denied help, if it was him and his care for balance, or if it was a treacherous influence of the stump. He hated how oppressive it felt, he was never sure how much of the evil around him was caused by the Nemeton. Sometimes he even went as far as to believe that what happened to the Hales was the work of the tree. With Talia's mind being too strong to manipulate, it looked for something else, someone else. Maybe it found the right target in Kate and Gerard. Maybe, it twisted their minds and drove them to commit such heinous act. After all, they were Argents, they prided themselves in their code, their rules. How much of a reach was it to try and blame what they did on an evil tree?

It was there always lurking, and without Talia, it constantly felt around for someone to get a grip on. To hold and manipulate. And its energy changed recently, Deaton felt it down to his very bones. He did not know why. Now he started to understand it and what a frightening thought it was.

It did not come to him earlier as he heard of what happened from Scott. The details were murky, the story jumbled, imprecise, as Scott was clearly upset. He did not ask, did not pry, tried to stay away as always. And again, that was a mistake.

"Well, can you tell us what it means, what is this god damn moment."

Erica did not seem to be getting it, becoming only increasingly impatient.

"Well, Erica honey, the snap of that bond with Stiles we have felt, was not real. Probably magic."

Deaton felt a shiver travelling up his spine. Snap of a bond? Scott did not mention that. All he talked about was the illusion they all saw. It did not sound good.

"Yes, and?"

There was impatience and a bit of irritation in Peter's huff. In the way he shook his head.

"Come on girl, you are smarter than this, you know exactly what that means. Just add one to one."

Deaton could exactly pinpoint the moment when Erica caught on, her eyes widened, and she paled visibly. There was a tremble to her lips. Her claws came out, an involuntary gestured that spoke volumes of her current state.

"Oh god, it weakened the bond, made it feel like it snapped by dimming it, it was so bright and strong, and the magic somehow made it so small, it felt like we have lost it. It made the bond fall out of place and..."

"And Nemeton took that place. Grabbed that bond from our very hands, I am afraid. If Stiles were a regular human, it would mean nothing, it would just be another missed chance. But Stiles is not a human."

His blood was running cold now, it physically felt like it, it felt like he was freezing. The young Spark was by no means powerful or at least, he did not seem to have enough control and belief in what was inside of him to be powerful and dangerous. But at the same time, he was a being of magic, he could draw power from the Nemeton and Nemeton could feed on him. Had he fallen into the grasp of the tree that could have created a very dangerous bond. One that would twist the power inside Stiles beyond recognition.

That would have been a disaster and looking at the face of those gathered in his office, they were all aware of that, aware of the seriousness of the situation. And that was scaring Deaton as well, because it made it real. It gave validity to his fears. He would have preferred to be the only one aware of the danger, then he would be the one to set its intensity, to decide how much fear and trepidation was warranted. He would not be at the mercy of this common thing that hung between them, A druid and three werewolves with equal expressions of fear and stress on their faces, four pounding hearts.

And one thought. How to solve this, when they did not know how to find Nemeton and where the person who caused this was hiding? What was their agenda, would they plan on making a return? Deaton did not like not knowing so much, but he was also pretty aware that he would not like the answers. And that sometimes not knowing was a blessing. 

And a curse.


	14. There is something wrong with Stiles

Lydia was hoping that she would get to see Stiles, that he would break through that self-imposed isolation from the pack that his mate had going as well. That's why she tried to get Stiles to skype with her, she tried calling and texting, she wanted to just burst through the door and fix this, make all the bad things go away. That did not happen, she was not granted a visit, Stiles did not want to speak to her, so she just waited. But she did not expect the sheriff to call her, frantic, pleading for her to come, that something was wrong with Stiles. The worry and panic in sheriff's voice almost paralyzed her. He was always so calm, so steady, yes, she knew that he was always weaker and more emotional where it came to Stiles. That was his only child and the only member of his family, at least for a long while, before the sheriff did not start the baffling romance with her mother. Not that she did not understand that entirely. They were single, lonely, not too old to have some fun together, and objectively both still attractive.

But still, Stiles was what his world was revolving around. Though even where it came to him, the sheriff was capable of remaining level-headed. Not so much right now. There was unadulterated fear in his voice. And Lydia felt it, she felt how warranted that was. She knew that the problems with the bond, the weird feeling they were surrounded in, the unexpected behavior of the alpha, the pack in disarray, that it was a sign of something bigger, much bigger, and that it seemed to be concentrated around Stiles. Caused by him, though without a fault of his own.

Yet, thinking so was different than seeing and getting a proof. She was afraid of what that would really mean for all of them. But she would not run away from it, not hide from the truth, it was not her style. So, the minute she got off the phone, she got into her car. She let Allison know what was happening. And then sped to Stiles's house like she had a devil on her tail.

The house looked normal, but she could not help but think that it felt more sinister, oppressive, like her powers were trying to tell her to stay away, to run. It made her dig her heels in even harder and she fought against herself as she knocked on the door. It almost seemed like she was breathing in dust and ash, and there was darkness in the shadows that seemed alive. That seemed to watch her as she waited for the sheriff to let her in.

"Oh thank god. I did not know what to do. Whether to call or not."

The sheriff rambled, and it was so weird. It was Stiles's domain and she could see how this could have come from his dad, but she has been around the sheriff for years and he was a man of few words and well-organized messages. He was not a rambler. He must have been really stressed.

When she looked at him, she noted that he no longer looked pristine. There were deep shadows under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. There were more wrinkles than she remembered. He was not really pale, more ashen, like there was a tiredness to his whole being that was demonstrated on his face. His shirt was crinkled, he was in disarray. It made her really scared.

"What happened sheriff?"

He ran his hand through his messy and greasy hair and took a deep breath as if to steady and steel himself from what he had to say.

"First there were the nightmares and not sleeping, but that was to be expected. Then he stopped eating. He stopped feeling, he went with the motions and tried to pretend that everything was all right. But it is not. He no longer behaves like Stiles, so much that I do not recognize my own son. And now came the hallucinations. He thought someone was knocking at our doors. He agreed for me to call you in after that. After he realized that he only imagined someone standing at the door. I don't know what to do. I just don't know anymore."

The situation was really dire. Lydia did not expect it to be so bad. The not sleeping and the nightmares that she understood. She understood enough about human brain and psychology to know that what Stiles went through was bound to have an effect on him, bound to come up in his dreams or in his waking hours as he was recalling those moments, recalling the things they did to him. She expected him to lose the appetite. But to change so completely. That she did not expect. To have his own father say that he did not recognize him. The sheriff would not say something like that lightly. The hallucinations, though, that was what got to her the most. She did not know what they stood for, what they symbolized. But that connected with how weird his bond felt had to stand for something utterly wrong, something sinister at the base of it. Lydia did not want to think about it, but she had to.

Inside the house it was dark and quiet, the feeling just as unpleasant as on the outside. Suffocating her, the bad feeling crawling on her skin like insects, like a bad touch. She wanted to shake it off and run. But she couldn't. She had a mission, a task at hand that needed her touch, needed her help, and she would not abandon it.

"Where is he?"

Noah pointed upstairs, and she could see how his hand was slightly trembling.

"He locked himself in his room. I begged him to stay, tried to keep him in the living room, but it was only making things worse. He was unbelievably agitated, and angry and had at least one panic attack. So, I let him go."

Lydia nodded and reached out to pat the sheriff on the shoulder. He accepted the gesture like it was water and he was in the desert dying of thirst. It was heart-breaking.

"I'll try to get him to let me in. He might, who knows. If he doesn't, sheriff, I'll come for you, we need to get to him whatever it takes."

Sheriff looked like he was about to protest but looking at her, and probably reading well her determination, he agreed with a nod. His shoulders slumped, he looked like a man defeated by life. Lydia wanted to assure him that it was going to be all right, that they were going to fix it, but she knew it would be lying. She did not want to lie or make empty promises to this man. So, she just squeezed his arm again, and went up the stairs. The wrong feeling intensified with every step. It felt like something was almost physically trying to stop her. The air was choking her, the darkness seemed tangible, despite the light filling the corridor. That was darkness that wrapped around the heart and mind and wanted to blind her with fear. But she was not going to give it any satisfaction, she was not going to give in.

The door to Stiles's room have never felt so far before, they were almost at an unreachable distance. It almost seemed like she was walking in place, never leaving the top of the stairs, never really setting a foot in the corridor that lead to them. But she knew it was just whatever wanted her gone playing tricks on her mind. So, she soldiered on and finally, after what felt like an eternity, she was able to knock on Stiles's door.

There was no answer at first, but Lydia kept knocking.

"Stiles, open the door please. Your dad called me, asked me to come. I know you were hallucinating before. But I am real, and I am really knocking on your door. Stiles, please."

Her words were met with more silence, so she resumed knocking.

"Go away! Stop!"

The voice on the other side, it had to be Stiles, but she would not have recognized it. It sounded so raw and hollow. It did not sound like her sarcastic, energetic, bubbly best friend. This was the voice of a person who walked through hell and emerged on the other side, broken, lost, and confused.

She had forgotten how Stiles experienced the pack bonds. He tried to explain her that once, he was a spark and an alpha mate, so he was able to feel them, but he did not sense them like the wolves did. For Stiles, they were not those individual cords that connected him to each person, that he could just recall or grasp with his mind like they could. For him they were a warm energy that surrounded him and grounded his magic and his mind. They made him feel safe and protected and wanted. For him, losing that must have been like losing the ground you stand on.

"Stiles," she spoke more softly, gently, like she would to a little child, or to Prada when she got scared of the thunderstorm, "please, I can fix this, we can fix this, just please let me it."

There was a crash, like something being thrown at the door and Stiles started screaming, as he clearly lost control.

"Go away! GO AWAY! LEAVE!"

He sounded like he was in an increasing distress, so Lydia felt the need to act quickly. She ran back to the stairs, the distance now seeming incredibly short.

"Sheriff! Sheriff, please, we need to get in there!"

To the man's credit, he did not waste time on any pointless discussions, on asking if she knew what she was doing. He was clearly torn between doing what she said and respecting his son's wishes. It was written on his face, and she appreciated that he must have sensed the urgency in her tone, in the manner she acted, and he just ran up the stairs to his son's door and broke them down in one swift movement. For his age, he was still surprisingly strong.

Lydia ran after him into Stiles's room. When she saw him, she froze, shocked. He looked bad, like he lost weight, but she did not know how that was possible, it has only been three days, it was as if something was feeding on him, draining him of his energy. He was always pale but now his face was sickly white, hair in a greasy mess, he looked like has not showered for some time, probably since leaving the hospital, his eyes were shining like he had a fever. But the way he looked was not the worst thing. It was how he acted once she and his father entered the room. He backed himself into a corner, back sticking tightly to the wall, legs pulled up and hugged against his chest. He looked scared out of his mind and on the verge of another panic attack. Lydia really did not want to be a cause of one, and she felt sheriff's hand holding her back, as if he wanted to stop her from causing further distress to his son.

It dawned on her that she knew even less about the bond's influence on Stiles than she thought. That she did not consider not only what it meant for him to lose it, but she did not think about what it meant that it was so twisted how it must have affected it, how it must have felt as bad to him as it did to them, maybe even worse. No, definitely worse. How scared he really must have been of them due to that festering thing that attached itself to him, an imitation of what he shared with the pack.

She backed away slowly, resisting the temptation to run to him and hug him, resisting the temptation of reaching for the bond to test it, to try and resurrect it, make it work like it did before. She resisted doing what seemed like helping but only would have made the matters worse. It was not an easy task, her mind fighting with her heart, because when she looked at him, she just wanted to wrap him up in all the love she could, she wanted to shield him from whatever was making him waste away but she couldn't. She would not cry, she would not show weakness in the presence of this malevolent force, so tangible here in this room, gathered around Stiles but inside, her heart was breaking, and she was screaming. She would cry up a storm once she was away from here. But for now, she stood still and strong, and determined to get her friend back. Whatever it took.

"Stiles, look at me. Please."

She put enough command, calm and firm, into it, to make him listen without spooking him. He raised his eyes and looked at her with that fevered look. It was not a look of a pray caught in a predator's trap, it was a look of a feral animal, looking for a way to escape, trampling everything in its way. That made her realize that she needed to be cautious not just for his sake but theirs too. She had no doubt about it that he would attack her and maybe even his dad if he felt threatened to the point where this would seem like the only choice. She did not want to push him to do it. So, she held his gaze, but she did not try to fight with him for dominance, she did not try to make him feel dominated or wrestled into submission. This was not a duel, this was support.

"Stiles, let us help you. I'm here with you dad. You recognize him don't you, you trust your dad, don't you?"

She tried to get through to him, Noah at her side took a step forward. One minute he was reaching for his son, the second he was flung against the opposite wall by an invisible force. The speed and amount of force used were enough to move him, but not enough to knock him out, he grunted, but managed to get back to his feet. Lydia took a step back, not wanting to turn her back on Stiles, not wanting to seem like she was running from him. She wanted to check on Noah, but he collected himself quickly and stepped next to her. They needed to carefully consider their next step. They were in a room with someone else than Stiles. Or something else. Something that hid beneath that nearly translucent skin, beneath the sinewy muscles, underneath all that fear and fever and panic. That something was raw energy, pure evil, and danger. It saw them as a threat. But it did not attack again, and a moment later it was like nothing happened at all. It once again looked like a scared Stiles. The sheriff turned to her, it looked like he was just wanting to talk to her, but she saw how he placed his body between her and that thing that posed as his son. He was shielding her in case it lost control again.

"Lydia, we should leave Stiles to himself. He clearly does not want to talk. We will go, have some tea in the kitchen, and then I think you should leave."

The sheriff spoke loudly and slowly, looking at Stiles the whole time, like gauging the reactions to his words. The thing that wore Stiles's skin, shone through his eyes now very clearly and Lydia was surprised she did not see it before. It was hiding well.

It did not really react, just tilted Stiles's head, and Lydia froze once again, she knew that gesture, she has seen it on Jackson plenty of times. It was listening for a lie.

"I'll drink tea and go. Thank you, sheriff."

She spoke the truth, her heart surprisingly steady, despite the stress she was under, and it must have heard that as it allowed the rigid posture of Stiles's body to turn into one more relaxed. He no longer looked like he was going to panic, it perfectly mimicked Stiles's relaxed face. It did not speak; it did not move as they walked out the door. It just watched them get out, watched the sheriff straighten the broken-down door as well as possible.

Lydia felt like running, like getting out of there as quickly as possible. She wanted to leave the house behind, not look back, just run and scream, scream at the top of her lungs. But she knew she couldn't, she couldn't show weakness or show that she has seen it for what it was, that she was not fooled. So, she walked down the stairs and into small kitchen. And though there was a bitter taste in her mouth, she accepted the tea.

"Thank you, sheriff."

They drank in silence, not knowing whether they could talk, how much it could hear. The kitchen felt more neutral, less under its influence and she could think here more clearly. She was not sure what that thing wanted to obtain acting like it did. It was clearly evil, but she could not tell how self-aware it was. Whether it was intelligent on its own or if it was more like a parasite, controlling Stiles for its basic purposes and benefits without really thinking about it, without a greater plan. Its outburst did not look planned. It was a quick action, and it used Stiles's own power, his own spark against his dad, like it did not want to be found. But she saw it, she saw it now and she would not forget it was there. She would no longer be fooled. She wondered if Noah saw it too, or if he just ushered her out because he thought that his son was so stressed that he lost control of his powers. It must have been a shock to him to be attacked by Stiles, but maybe he did not notice anything else to it because the attack was not aimed at hurting him, more at keeping him away. Like something that Stiles would definitely do if cornered.

It was eating at her that she could not ask him. She suspected that he would not leave with her, but she had to try.

"Sheriff..."

" I think it's time for you to go, Lydia. I was actually making Stiles and me some dinner, I would invite you to stay but I don't think it's a good idea."

She wanted to ask again, to make him see that maybe he was not safe her, not as safe as he thought. But sheriff looked her right in the eyes and she knew that there was no sense asking again.

"Thank you, sheriff, take care." She put emphasis on the last two words, knowing that he would understand the meaning behind them. "If anything happens..."

"I'll let you guys know. Don't worry."

And with that he sent her off. As she was walking away from the house to her car, she felt eyes on her, but she did not look around, did not want to confirm if it was watching her leave. The further she was from the house, the easier it was to breathe, the fresher was the air, the brighter the colors. Even the sounds were returning, the street seemed loud compared to the house. Her phone vibrated in her purse. When she looked at it, there was a message from Derek, an emergency pack meeting.

She felt both relief that she did not have to carry the burden of the knowledge herself but also trepidation and sadness that she would have to tell them what happened in that room. What was really happening with Stiles.

She got into her car, not chancing another look at the house and drove off towards the preserve. She was watching the road; she was not speeding. Despite that she did not see the deer that jumped onto the streets and dove head first into her windshield.


	15. Blue-eyed beta

His nephew turned out to be quite a good alpha in the end. Peter did not see that coming. Maybe he should have. Despite Laura being the obvious successor taught how to be an alpha, and Peter was never above admitting that he was and always will be bitter about it, it was Derek that truly took after his mother. All down to the blue eyes before turning them to red. Not many in the family knew about it, Talia has been an alpha from a very young age, her children never saw her beta form, they only saw the red eyes, hiding the evidence of how she lost control when she was growing up. Peter held many of her secrets close to his heart and could never decide if he did not share them because it was his sister after all, now dead and gone, or whether he liked feeling a twisted kind of satisfaction when he heard people talking about her as if she was a saint, a legend, the all-powerful alpha, while he saw her bloodied and frenzy, scared and doubting herself and questioning her actions. Derek was much like that, and Peter knew that he did not feel he deserved the alpha power for a long time, because he could not live up to the image of his mother he had in his head. If only he knew, he might have had an easier time becoming a full-fledged alpha, or he might have fallen apart without this impossible role-model to follow. Well, anyway, Peter was not going to see what would happen. He would let his sister rest in peace, without dragging her memory through the mud.

And he was not going to help Derek, not more than he already did. There was a limit to his benevolence. Stiles never really trusted him fully, despite what the other foolish betas might have thought. He kept Peter at arm's length, not letting him on the big secrets, not letting him contribute to the pack's policy or plans. He carved a little space in the pack for Peter to hide in, but it was on the edges, he was always the smart one. Peter did not resent him for that. It was much better than the hostility, or disdain or the insulting assumption that he softened up. The pack was stronger, a lone wolf was an easy target, no matter how strong, and it was not just the hunters that were a threat. It was the wolf too, and Peter's was already flirting with insanity, the memory of being mad with pain and call for revenge still very much alive in his head. The madness was still there somewhere around the corner. So, he held on to what Stiles has given him, marveling at the power that kid had.

Peter felt it when they have met. It was lying dormant, waiting, but it was there, and Peter was attuned to it. He wanted to have it at his disposal, but something made him hesitate, he did not know why back then. Why he asked and did not just take. Stiles was weaker than he, all he had to do was close his jaws around that wrist and Stiles would be his beta, much better one than Scott ever was. Now he knew why, Stiles would have never followed him, never would have submitted. His eyes would not have remained gold for long, Peter sensed an alpha sleeping deep inside Stiles's psyche and he cowered before him. Not an easy thing to admit. But then watching Stiles fall into place at Derek's side, in the beginning practically assuming the role of the head of the pack, Peter knew that he was right.

That also, unfortunately meant that his connection to the Nemeton was almost as strong as Derek's, or even stronger because of his spark. Nemeton was the only thing that Peter was scared of, his sister did describe how that connection felt, how it tried to twist her every doubt against her. It felt alive, it had a will of its own and it was powerful. Peter swore he felt it too, despite the bond being almost completely obscured from his view. Diluted by his sister's power and the feeling of the whole pack around him. When he was alpha, he was mad, feral, there were no bonds tying him to anyone but Scott, and a very frail one connecting him to Derek, but the latter was a result of shared blood rather than being in one pack. He did not hear the call. Derek was too busy picking up stray kids of the streets to listen to any other voice in his head than his own. Peter was well, dead, for most of that and once he came back, there were too many things that went wrong for them to worry about one damn tree.

And then to Peter's surprise, Derek handled the transition into a competent alpha pretty well, and he never heard the call of Nemeton, unlike when Talia was his alpha. There was a moment when he worried that it was because he was not pack, but then he quickly understood that the reason for that was that Derek as the one who woke the Nemeton, probably had the most personal connection with the tree and must have had a lot of experience in wrestling it into submission. It seemed that the matter was handled. Until now.

He knew how much damage Stiles could do, how much damage Nemeton could do, though the latter he knew from stories and books, not from experience. The tree would have been able to protect the whole territory, scare off all evil and make them all stronger had it been healthy. If it weren't first cut down and nearly killed and then awoken with a bloody sacrifice made of an innocent girl by an equally innocent killer. Now it was a poison, it invited the evil, let it in. It was not a tree of life anymore, it was one of death and having it free, having it possess one with a magical spark, it did not bode well.

Deaton was as helpful as usual but at least he was able to confirm all the ways that the Nemeton could have exerted its influence upon Stiles. But he did not have any answers as to how were they supposed to get him back, how were they going to defend themselves from him. There was his usual mumbo-jumbo about containment and about rebuilding the bonds, he theorized and hypothesized about the power of the pack how they could pull Stiles back. He gave them mountain ash, a metaphorical pat on the back and then sent them on their way. Typical.

Derek called on an emergency pack meeting, face permanently locked in the expression that Peter became too good at reading. That spoke of pain and suffering that Derek was trying to cover with gruffness and seriousness. The betas responded immediately, like they were just waiting for the signal, flocking in into the loft. The ungrateful brat and his hunter girlfriend were the first ones there. Scott was looking worse for wear, the situation with his almost-brother like they tended to call each other, clearly weighing down on him. The Argent one, Peter still could not understand why she even was a part of their little group, was unmoved like a rock that Scott was clearly and almost literary leaning on. Peter hated that family with passion of one thousand suns and regretted a little bit till this day that he did not get this one too when he finally killed Kate, but he had to admit that there was something about them. They were resilient and their spirits could withstand any weather. That was pretty admirable all in all. Peter was not above admitting that.

Next was the remaining two of the original trio, the first betas of Derek. They were not exactly what he would have picked but they have evolved into pretty competent werewolves. They have gotten drunk on the power at first, the blonde twins as he used to think of them. Not Boyd, that was a good right hand, leveled and calm. Too bad that he was under Erica's influence so much. That was unfortunate but not tragic. Peter did not really like or dislike them, they were annoying but useful, hard to control but surprisingly loyal. A blend of the worst and the best qualities of betas. Peter was just glad that he was not their alpha.

Speaking of people whom he was glad not to be alpha of, Jackson arrived second to last, all they were missing now was Lydia. The nightmare of fighting the kanima was still very much alive in his head. He could not for the life of him decipher why Derek bit that arrogant little prat. And yes, being a werewolf and a part of the pack helped him a lot, but pack was not about charity or about taking chances on individuals that seem more trouble than they are worth. The gamble did not pay off immediately and the monstrosity that Jackson became, that reflected who he was inside, caused them a lot of grief. And played right into Gerard Argent's hand. That made Peter madder than anything else.

Then they were waiting, the minutes ticked away, the murmur of separate conversations filling the room. Peter caught Derek checking his phone with increasing frequency.

"Just call her."

Finally, he lost the patience, the constant nervous movements, the impatience and anticipation surrounding him, emanating from the alpha and jumping onto the pack, made the hair on the back of his head stand up.

"She's not that late yet. And she might be driving."

"Then put that thing away and stop fretting. You're making me nervous. And when I get annoyed, it's never a pleasant sight, nephew. Spare all of us that."

Derek growled and made a face at him like he was biting into a particularly juicy and sour lemon. But he did proceed to put the phone down. There was anticipation in the air.

"Say something, nephew. You did call the rugrats all here."

Derek looked uncomfortable, as Peter would imagine he would feel, if he had to tell the pack that the alpha mate and spark might be currently taken over by a malevolent tree and used for who knows what. But it had to be done.

"The bond with Stiles, when it seemed like it broke, it was weakened, and as it was weakened, it was taken over, or so we believe, by Nemeton."

The pack gasped almost in unison. They all looked like they wanted to ask a million questions. Surprisingly, the Argent girl was the first to speak. Calm and collected with a hint of inner storm inside.

”How is that possible? How did you even come up with a theory like this after what happened?”

”You would not understand,” Scott growled, and Allison looked at Peter sharply. “Now, now, I am not suggesting you are dumb, unlike your boy here. But you are not a wolf, and you are not controlled by the pack bonds. And it’s a long story.”

Allison opened her mouth as if to argue but Erica cut her off.

”It is a long story, trust me, and for later. And Lydia needs to be told. Where is she Jackson?”

There was so much aggression in that one question that Jackson looked ready to bolt.

”I don’t know, let me call her…

Before he even reached for his phone, the sound of a ringtone made them all jump. Even Peter had to admit that it startled him. Derek picked up the phone, the slight smell of anxiety wafting of him. It was when he spoke when Peter realized why. It was never a good thing to be called by Melissa McCall.

"What do you mean... wait... what accident?"

Peter focused his hearing on the other side of the conversation as Melissa calmly but urgently explained everything.

A dear. An accident. Lydia in the hospital. Peter saw it for what it really was. Nemeton at work. Whatever Lydia did, how she did that, was a mystery but she landed on its blacklist. And Nemeton acted quickly and swiftly. There was no doubt about it in Peter's mind.

"We need to go to the hospital."

Derek ordered, like he had forgotten that he was in a room with creatures with superhearing. Like he had forgotten that they already knew what was happening and were already halfway at the door. Peter grabbed him by the elbow as he was trying to pass him.

"You know that this is the tree's work. That this is how it used Stiles."

Scott jumped, like the foolish child he was, to argue.

"You don't know that! You can't blame this on Stiles."

"I am not blaming it on him, you dolt, I am blaming Nemeton. It has made a move. I am pretty sure of it."

Derek seemed stricken, like he had already considered the same thing. 

"Peter, do you know how it happened?" There was a lot of hope in his voice. Like he really believed that Peter could hold the answers. His nephew really fell into disarray whenever Stiles was mentioned.

"My mother, did she tell you why and how the Nemeton worked. Why couldn't it..."

"Why couldn't it do as much damage without someone to channel the powers through? She didn't. I have some theories but for that I need Deaton. And Stiles."

He saw how Derek wanted to say no, wanted to deny the access to Stiles to anyone, especially Peter. But nothing came out, the inner struggle must have brought him the same answer as Peter's inner struggle did. Stiles was indispensable in solving this puzzle. There was no protecting him from any consequences of this situation.

And they would need to make Deaton talk somehow, help beyond the unhelpful, generic words and advice. This was no longer just a situation in which the main goal was to recover Stiles and tear him out of the tree's grasp. This was it trying and succeeding at hurting people through Stiles, through his powers and that could not be left unattended.

"Let the pack go to the hospital. They do not need us to be there. Lydia does not need an alpha there, she is no a wolf, she will benefit from the presence of anyone from the pack. Let's go to Stiles."

"I can't. Peter, he... I will only scare him, and if this is the tree reacting, I might set off something much worse."

"No excuses nephew."

There was no place here for any misguided softness, for stepping back. They needed to act fast and Derek had to accept that he could not get out of this, as much as Peter would want to spare him this, there was no possibility of doing so. There was a war going on between them, in their eyes, in their stances, they were battling. And Peter was winning. Finally, Derek lowered his head, and though Peter was his beta and not the other way around, he knew that his will has prevailed. He was doing that for the pack and for Beacon so that he would not lose a place in which he can live, and people who could keep him safe should the past ever come looking for him.

So he ushered Derek down the stairs and into his car. He barked the orders to the pack that this time did not think about disputing and ignoring, and then he drove towards the Stilinski house. Feeling the weight of dread in his stomach increase the closer they got to it. That more than anything told him that they were doing the right thing.

"Call Deaton, Derek, get him to come to the house. Don't take no for an answer, as he might try to weasel out of helping again. Tell him to hurry. We will need his expertise. Like right now."


	16. Bent out of shape

There were too many sounds in his head. Like someone kept knocking on it, like someone was screaming in his ear. There were so many sounds, but all of them meaningless, indistinguishable from one another. He could not block them out no matter how much he tried. He was desperate for a little silence that he was even considering piercing his eardrums but he could not do it. He did not even have strength to raise his hands. There were spots of light before his eyes, his vision blurred, he felt blind and deafened by the cacophony of sounds.

His whole body felt heavy and light at the same time, he felt weightless at one moment and like his bones were made of lead the next. He was confused. Sometimes, the sounds and the heaviness and the dizzy feeling made him forget his name. He did not know who he was, who the man that was in the house with him was. He felt weirdly protective towards him, and then he wanted him gone, wanted him hurt, but could not make himself do it. Could not even move. Did not even scratch his nose as it itched. It was not his body, when it hurt, when it hungered for water or food, it did not feel real and the needs were fulfilled but he did not taste the food nor felt the relief as he swallowed water. All that happened on a plane of consciousness he had no access to.

Someone was here, before, HER, he knew HER, he believed so, he could feel something awaken at the sight of her but the voices screamed so loudly that the spark died and he hurt the man, he felt his body do it. But he did not remember why and how. He felt threatened, scared but he did not know what he was scared of. He watched her go and a part of him wanted to stop her, to make her quiet, so so quiet. Not speaking a word, never again. She spoke kindly to him, gently, the words washing over him. Not a threat in them, but she had a storm behind her eyes, and the voice, the loudest of the voices was screaming up a storm of its own. Watched HER through his eyes, watched her go, and made her silent. Reached out to the storm he carried inside, to the rot, the poison, that was not him and was him and around him, in him, everywhere and nowhere, and made her quiet, so she could not speak, could not hurt him.

Then his body shut down again, curled in a corner, not feeling, not wanting, in a tomb of sounds and darkness. The man's presence ignored, as he was bustling about in the kitchen. Making the food that the body will take in without tasting, without willingly eating. His body no longer needed him to do anything just listen, listen to the voices. They were quiet before. They only asked, and he denied. He remembered denying the voices, remembered saying no, to the visions, to the people paraded before his eyes. They were not real, not real, they made him scared. He knew them, he wanted to have them close, but they felt wrong, wrong. He couldn't tell what was real, so he kept saying no. He remembered.

But the voice was in, and it was twisting him and hurting and screaming and it was wrong so much that there was no space for him, no place for him to hide. He wound his arms around his body tighter. The ends of his nerves frayed and tingling and screaming. He did not listen, could not listen, there was too much noise. He wanted to join the choir, add his voices to the noise, to the chaos, but it was not his lungs, not his body anymore. It did not listen.

There was danger coming, a predator, and his pray heart beat too fast, too fast for him to catch a breath, but the part of him, he did not understand, he did not control, was smiling and readying for attack and it was taking his body with it. It made him take steps, one after another, slow, uncoordinated, his feet sliding from underneath him, his body swinging from left to right. It held him upright when it could, but it was a manual process, it had to straighten his spine, he forgot how to do that. It got him moving like a puppet hanging on loose strings, jumping as it was pulled up and forwards. It curled his fingers on the edge of the damaged door, his grip slack, fingers twisting uselessly, no longer remembering how to hold things, and got him to pull. The door did not give in at first, his arms weak and his fingers sliding over them. But it grew angry, thrashing inside him, grabbing at the door again and again, leaving red stains on the broken metal lock.

The door moved, inch by inch, and the thing in him grew more agitated, restless, it needed to crawl out, his body slumping down, without strength and ability to keep upright, the entity in him could not keep him up, it could not make him walk the way it wanted. It was roaring, the sound echoing in his skull. And it propelled him forward, forward, forward. Until he was on his hands and knees, until he was dragging his body, the angry voice resonating, lighting his muscles on fire, making them scream. It was not his body moving. It was the thing, jumping ahead, trying to get at the threat, trying to rip it apart. The noise has been increasing, and he vaguely realized that the sound might have been coming from his throat, ripped from it by force, and it hurt, had to hurt, he did not recognize the feeling, as he howled and howled, and crawled forward.

He saw them standing at the top of the stairs. Their eyes glowing, they were monsters, monsters with sharp teeth and claws that ripped flesh apart, and the howling got louder. They did not move, watch him with shining wide eyes, as he crawled, as power gathered in his fingertips, as his body moved toward them. They stood still, one howling alongside him, the sound rippling through him, the waves hurting his unfeeling body. And then they moved, the one with the cold blue eyes moved first, a flurry of movement and white teeth but he did not get to him, he did not descend upon him, it raised his hand and threw the wolf at the wall. As the wolf howled in pain, it rejoiced, but as it moved again, walls descended upon it. He could not see the walls, it looked with his eyes, felt with his fingers, but the walls were hidden from it, and yet there. He was in a circle and it recognized it, recognized the blackness of it, the smell. It knew it was trapped. The red eyed wolf, the one whose pain was wrecking through the body it controlled, the one who suffered as he suffered, got close enough to lock him in. And it was furious, the emotion flooding all the senses it dulled out before. He howled, the sound inhuman, foreign to him, it was screaming through him. Letting them know, making them see and hear how it felt wronged. It twisted his fingers into claws and dragged them over his wounds, and there was so much red, the color moving before his eyes, as if it was alive, with a mind of its own and freer than he was. The red ran like little rivers, gathering in puddles under his body. It mirrored the color of the wolf's eyes, as he howled.

There were words spoken but he did not understand them, could not fish them out from the now constant noise around him. And then it got silent, it ran, into all the dark corners inside him, into all the shadows he carried. And he started hearing what was spoken, single words, like sheriff, and no, and had to be done. And he knew they spoke of him, they said Stiles, and it felt right, it felt like him. And it was his father crying, and his mate looking at him like the world was burning, like it was falling apart underneath them all. He wanted to reach out, wanted to touch but the walls kept him in, and his body was heavy. He could not move, could not speak, he could just lie there, bloodied, and broken and weak.

"Derek..."

That was the name he had almost forgotten, that was the name that he remembered rolling off his tongue with ease, with affection. Now it sounded wrong, like it did not fit, like it caused him pain. He had to try again, to get that pained look of that face that he now recognized. That he loved.

"Derek..."

He spoke again, easier this time, the memories returning. It felt like breathing clean air, like finding oasis in the desert. Like hope. And then he remembered. His father, he hurt his father, the outburst, the attack, he remembered wanting to hurt Lydia, probably succeeding. Once more the air got thin, scarce, the vice around his chest tightening. Vision blurring, he scratched at the floor to find any purchase, to let more air in, to stop feeling like there was a weight sitting on his chest, on his body. But he couldn't. He was struggling against himself and losing.

"He is having a panic attack."

His father sounded so worried and so far away despite standing so close.

"We cannot go inside the circle. Noah, let me."

His mate knelt by the walls that held him captive. His eyes no longer red, now a kaleidoscope of colors, looked right into him, like they could see the inside, like they could see his turmoil. His voice was so soft and so gentle. More than he deserved. More than Stiles deserved. It still felt weird remembering that he had a name.

"Stiles, breathe with me love. Count and breath with me. Breathe in, through the nose, come on a big breath. Hold it. One, two, three, count Stiles, now exhale through your mouth. That's it. Now let's repeat that. Do it with me."

The pressure slowly decreased. With that, the clarity was returning, the soothing sound of Derek's voice chasing away all lingering panic.

"You're okay Stiles, you're alright. I am here."

A hand, a human hand with blunt fingernails was pressed against the invisible wall of the circle. Stiles remembered those hands, how gently they held him, how safe he felt with them on his skin. So, he reached out, his own hand nearing the barrier, when he felt another presence in the house. A man climbed up the stairs. Bold, black, Stiles recognized him, Deaton. The thing inside him recognized Deaton too, and uncoiled, numbing his body, his mind submitting, drifting away to the shouts of a name, he no longer remembered. No longer recognized as his own.


	17. Hospital Blues

Allison hated hospitals. She hated them when she was younger too, less than now but still, she did. Her father was operated on once, when she was a child, she could still remember sitting on a cold hospital chair, in a cramped waiting room, with her mother sitting straight, rigid next to her. She could not cry, every time she tried, out of fear, exhaustion or frustration, her mother silenced her. Told her that strong people did not cry. That Argents did not cry. Her dad would be fine, and he did not need her tears. They have not told her what happened, she was too young to know, and she did not need to know. It was work, her mom said. Now she knew what she meant. Back then, she wondered, what could have hurt his dad so bad that he needed to go to hospital. He was selling things, for all she knew, what she has been told. Lady at the store was never hurt that bad. Her young mind did not understand. And her mother was not going to explain.

She remembered the feeling of frustration that was stronger than anything else, and she associated it unconsciously with the hospital, with its white walls and unmistakable smell.

Then as she got close to Lydia, the girl was found mauled at the football field, Allison remembered the vision, the room full of blood and the body of Lydia shaken and contorted by some invisible force. She did not know until this day why she saw it. If it was Kate's poison influencing her mind or if it was hallucination caused by Lydia's awakening power of the banshee. She could still recall it, though, as if she had just seen it.

The worst memory from the hospital, was coming in to confront her dad, to make him tell her that her mom was still alive, that he had been lying to her. It felt unreal, going up the elevator, holding onto hope that it was all a lie, that her mother would have never killed herself. She has been a fierce woman, with ice cold eyes and an equally icy demeanor. She was cruel, dominant, more of a monster than any of her friends could ever be, and too much like Kate for Allison to be comfortable with admitting.

But she was also her mother, she taught her all that she knew, how to be strong, how to be loyal towards what she believed in, how not to give up. She was her family and she cared about her. Losing her, unscrewed something in her head, made her vulnerable to manipulation. Gerard must have taken one look at her and see that. But she had friends who pulled her back on the right side, that forgave her, made her feel like she belonged.

That was why she hated hospitals even more now, because they seemed to end up there more often than she wanted to. Some of the pack members, herself included, were painfully human. And the rest sometimes required help too. So, she reacted to the smell like it physically hurt her. And now it was even more of a pain. First Stiles and now Lydia. It seemed that they couldn't leave this place behind and not look back. They were lucky that Melissa was there. That woman was a rock, she was strong and soft, unbreakable but motherly, fearless but warm. She taught her of a different kind of strength and resilience. And she was always ready to help them, assist them any way she could.

She greeted them at the door. Ushered them in to the room in ICU, made them dress in protective clothes, and somehow managed to smuggle all of them inside.

"Head trauma. She is in an induced coma. The doctors are assessing the swelling. All other injuries are minor. No broken bones, fractured ribs, which are painful but not life threatening. Lots of bruises. It is the brain that has them worried. But we know something they don't, isn't that right?"

She looked serious but tried to keep the tone light. They were all tethering on the edge of despair, bad news upon bad news dampening their spirits and Allison appreciated that Melissa was trying to keep things light. Tried not to burden them even more. It was a partial success, judging by the faces of the gathered people, especially Jackson looked like he was on the verge of tears, not just regular ones, more like he was heading towards hysteria, but Erica's hand on his shoulder was keeping him grounded.

"Her pack is here. So, guys, try to help, hold her hands, pat her hair gently, talk to her, draw the pain away. She is not human, she may not heal like a wolf, but she does not heal as slowly as I would, either. She is stronger than a normal human, and you can make her even stronger. Be here for her, be there for each other too. This too will pass."

And with that, she left them.

Allison looked at how fragile Lydia looked in that hospital bed. Despite being small and thin, Lydia always looked fierce, like a wild cat, ready to pounce, she demanded attention and she got it. Her spirit was burning bright even before she became a banshee. After she was bitten, though, she became simply unstoppable. Allison admired that about her, that she went through so much, nearly went insane as a result of her powers, mixed with Peter Hale's influence, and yet she persevered, emerged stronger on the other side, without harming anyone in the process. Without lashing out, she was manipulated but it was all magic and alpha's command and not a faked letter and a few encouraging words. She did not yield after just a little push. That, Allison envied her more than anything.

"Hey, Lyds."

Her voice did not shake despite how unsteady she felt inside. Lydia's head has been wrapped around with bandages, she was pale and immobile, lying still, hooked up to machines, not unlike how she looked when she was bitten. Allison felt like crying but knew that she could not fall apart for all those gathered around. For Scott, who held her close, for Jackson who was ready to shake apart, and for the beta trio that needed someone to draw strength from, now that their alpha was unavailable for that. So, she took a deep breath, stepped up to the hospital bed and took Lydia's hand in hers.

"I know I'm just a human, Lyds, but we are pack, and I am here for you. I am at your side. And the others are here too."

She gestured at them and in a blink of an eye they descended upon Lydia, touching her wherever they could. Jackson grabbed her other hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. Erica and Boyd grabbed one of her ankles, lifting the blanket she was under slightly, just to expose her legs from the knees down. Issac grabbed the other ankle, and Scott put one of his hands on Lydia's head, gently touching her forehead, and the other, he wound around Allison's waist. She did not know if he had done that to support her or himself. She just accepted it, because she needed it as much as he did.

They stood there, the wolves with intense looks of concentration on their faces, and Allison guessed that they were focusing on the pack bonds that connected them to Lydia. Once again Allison wished that she had those bonds too, that she could do more for Lydia than just hold her hand and be there. But if that was all she could do; she would do it to the best of her abilities.

"Lyds, you are a banshee, a supernatural creature, you are strong, you will heal. That brain of yours is too important for the pack, you are too important. Melissa is never wrong, almost like she is more than a human herself. And she said that us being here for you, can help you heal. So, take all you need. Draw the power from us. Heal."

She put a lot of herself in those words, like they could make Lydia better, like they could command her to heal herself, to get back to them.

They stood there, holding Lydia, touching her, sending her the energy through the bonds, when Melissa came back to the room.

"Alright guys, I am sure you did a great job. But now, you have to leave her some space, you have to let her rest and use that strength you gave her to heal herself. So, out you go now. And try not to worry too much, okay. She will be fine. Has to be, right?"

There was no doubt in Melissa's voice. It was cheerful and upbeat, and her face was so warm, and her smile so uplifting. Allison found herself smiling as well in answer. And nodding like she believed that everything is going to be fine. They did their part. They would repeat it, how many times it would take. They were a pack and they stood by their own in the time of need. They would be all right. It would be all right. Had to be.

And that was the moment the wolves shifted and started to howl.


	18. This will hurt

Deaton felt the howl in his very bones, all the way down to the toes. It sounded neither like human nor like a wolf. It sounded terrifying and angry, like it was coming from a wounded animal or rather a twisted form of it. Deaton hesitated. There weren't many things in the world that made him scared or made him want to take a step back, he faced down a lot of alphas and monsters in his lifetime. He has seen things that would make regular people run scared or go insane. And he was still here, in the middle of this hellhole of a city, ready to face down any enemy of the Hale pack. And yet, yet, here he was, standing at the door to the Stilinski house, shaken to the core by the scream coming from the inside, sensing the darkness cloaking the house, the evil within old, powerful, and clearly very angry. Even if it was trapped in a body of a human, it was finding cracks through which it could seep through, feeding on all the pain and destruction and chaos it was causing.

He knew he had to get in there, walk up the stairs and face that demon, he knew, yet he could not, he was trapped in his own fear, remembering all he lost all that the tree took away, and he couldn't move.

Then suddenly, the aura of evil lessened in its intensity, it was like a veil being lifted and Deaton found himself able to breathe again. It was short of a miracle, how it disappeared, retreated into far corners, to sit there like a crouching tiger, leaving the druid lightheaded. The indecisiveness was gone, and he walked through the door, following the sounds of the commotion upstairs.

Derek Hale was kneeling next to the circle of mountain ash and in it there was Stiles. Deaton never had any preferences towards any members of the pack, they were all equally important, all had their roles, but the human member, the anomaly, the spark, alpha mate, as he was all of that wrapped up in one, did have a way to worm his way into other people's sympathies. Seeing his like this, Deaton's heart stopped for a second. Blood was dripping down his gaunt face, his eyes were wild, it was clear he was coming down from a panic attack. He was emaciated, lying on the floor, and he looked lost.

It all changed the moment his eyes jumped to Deaton as if he sensed him, the switch was flipped. Stiles let out another howl, sending Derek into a spiral of frenzy, he kept screaming his name, like that could hold the bit of consciousness that broke through the cracks in place. But Deaton knew that it was useless, that it was hopeless, he saw behind Stiles's eyes, how fast he was retreating, escaping from this reality, there was no way to ground him. Nemeton was too strong. Soon, Derek must have realized the same thing, as he joined Stiles, no, not Stiles, that thing, in mournful howling. Deaton knew he had to make it stop, had to get to Derek before he did something stupid. Like let the monster out just because it hid behind his mate's face.

Deaton took a careful step forward. The wild face of Stiles was still turned to him, his eyes following his every movement. Deaton observed how its demeanor changed, began morphing into something completely different. The oppressive aura receded but it was not replaced by anything warm or inviting, there was palpable fear in the air. The creature, as Deaton saw it for what it was, scrapped back on its knees and rested its back against the mountain ash wall. It let out a pitiful whine. Its eyes were huge as it looked at Deaton in fear, body trembling. It was a show, but it was a bloody good one.

And it was working, the other men gathered in the room reacted to it. They spoke softly, trying to get the attention of who they believed was their frightened mate, son, friend. Even Peter Hale got caught up, fell for the act. But nothing they have done could have gotten Nemeton to look away from Deaton. He did not fall for it, he saw the monster beneath the thin, tight skin, its darkness almost visible through the translucent paleness. He saw the monster thrashing and wanting to attack but being unable to. It was smart, or just knew how to act by instinct, but it was applying a strategy that was most likely to succeed.

"Derek...," its voice was dripping with fear. The slight tremble of it, very convincing, "he came to hurt me."

A pair of red eyes turned to him, and Deaton shuddered. The Nemeton chose the right skin to wear, he saw that the control it had over Stiles, started slowly extending towards the alpha.

The growl was expected, the claws and fangs slowly descending, as Derek looked at him like on a threat but not to him, a threat to his mate, the love of his life, the one with the strongest bond. Deaton knew his window to deescalate the situation was small.

"Derek, I will not hurt him," he started carefully, but quickly realized that it was not the right thing to do.

He only drew the werewolf's attention even more and that was not something he wanted.

"Derek, you need to fight this."

The alpha's eyes flickered back and forth red and green, settling on his human eyes finally. But before Deaton even had time to feel relief, Peter Hale was in his face, face twisted in the shift, electric blue eyes piercing into his own.

"Did you know?! Did you know that this was going to happen? Did you know that it was going to be this bad?!"

Deaton considered his options, lying could have even gotten him killed, no exaggeration, omitting anything might have been reasonable but cruel. Faced with Peter's furious eyes and Derek's broken look as his eyes kept jumping from Deaton to Stiles, the druid opted for the truth.

"No, I did not. I... I held back a lot in the past, but this, I would not do. I knew what Talia said about Nemeton. How it wrested her for control, as she stood between Derek as his alpha and the tree. But I did not know how bad it would be, how bad it would get if someone bonded to Derek would fall prey to it."

He looked at Stiles, and felt lost, this was nothing like he imagined. The young spark looked almost inhuman, barely recognizable, and although there was so much raw power emanating from him despite the mountain ash circle, he looked like a light punch could kill him. The Nemeton was not powering him, it was feeding on him. And Deaton realized how wrong he was. The tree did not get what it wanted, it did not matter that Stiles had magic, he was still just a fragile human, a breakable, fragile vessel that could not contain the raw power that consumed him. And the cracks were already showing.

No, the tree wanted something else. Someone else. His eyes jumped back to Derek. Who looked seconds away from wolfing out again. The ash probably being the only thing between the tree and the alpha.

That was it, that was the endgame, finally getting to Derek. Taking him over. Once it gets the alpha, it gets the pack, and nothing will stand in Nemeton's way. Despite being sentient, the tree was not a human being, it acted more like an animal, based on instinct and instinct alone.

It wanted a strong alpha under its control, Talia did not give in, Laura was far away from here, when Nemeton recovered from abruptly losing its connection to Talia. Peter did not give in, because there was no room for that influence in his mind, then Derek became the alpha but he was packless, and Nemeton felt that weakness, that it might have been able to finally gain control over Derek if it broke through the thick layer of guilt and self-loathing, but he would be useless. Nemeton wanted more. It must have rejoiced as he built his pack of outcasts, of broken children, but then yet again it was denied because those children had spines of steel, their spirits crippled but never truly broken. It looked for a way in but found none. Until now.

And there was no way Deaton could communicate all that in the time they had. Stiles, no, not Stiles, Nemeton kept its eyes on him, as if it was figuring out what he knew. Derek and Peter were in his way, but he could make it, they were still in control, though the alpha was tethering at the edge of it, with him mate in obvious pain.

His moves were calculated but fast, he did not want to give Nemeton a chance to intervene. Derek stirred but Peter's hand on his arm rooted him in place. It was enough for Deaton to act.

Finding mistletoe on an oak, on a Nemeton, was considered a blessing, druids rejoiced when it blossomed. But that was only possible if the Nemeton was healthy, the energy surrounding it, emanating from it needed to be pure, then good things happened. Otherwise, mistletoe was nowhere to be found, dark energy shying away from it, like from poison. Deaton kept a small stock, among many other herbs in his office, never expecting to need it, never expecting to have to use it on someone he knew.

When Derek called, he grabbed it, on instinct or maybe the deeply rooted knowledge of druid lore resurfaced under the pressure and in that moment, he clearly knew he would need it. Whatever it was, it was a blessing, and Deaton knew he would have to use it quickly. Nemeton's reaction upon seeing him might have been an indication that somehow, without knowing what exactly it was that scared it about Deaton, it sensed the danger he brought into the house. Normally, Deaton moved slow, in calculated movements, with an air of what he liked to think of as grace but probably more resembled aloofness. But he knew how to move fast, how to act faster than anyone would have expected him to. That was his secret weapon. And he utilized it now. His hand dove in the pocked and grabbed the jar, pulled it out, he opened it with deft fingers and thrown the contents at Stiles before anyone had a chance to react.

The effects were instantaneous. Dark tendrils rose from the boy's skin, a piercing cry ripped out of his throat, his eyes turning black for a moment before he slumped and fell unconscious to the floor.

Deaton knew the danger did not pass yet, as Derek growled, the sound low and dangerous, the red fire in his eyes promising retribution for the pain caused to his mate. This time he acted all on his own, but that did not make him any less dangerous. Maybe even more. Peter's hand on his shoulder never tightened, Deaton waited for the fingers to flex, to grip, but they remained slack, and maybe for that reason alone, being grounded by familiar presence and not restrained by force, Derek remained in place, as if he has grown roots where he stood. He was breathing hard, the red did not leave his eyes, his hands coiled into tight fists, blood running down and dripping on the floor. But he did not move and that was good enough for Deaton.

He waited, they had time, mistletoe and ash were not an impeccable line of defense, but it would hold for now. The words Deaton knew he had to say were not easy. He knew that Derek was not ready to hear them, probably would never be able to do so. And in this very moment, he was probably not ready to hear anything Deaton had to say, so he remained quiet.

There was movement, he registered it at the periphery of his vision. The sheriff. The man approached the circle surrounding his son carefully, slowly as if afraid that a wrong movement could set a chain reaction into motion that could sweep away the momentary peace. Deaton did not have many dealings with this man, even once he was drawn into the know. The sheriff was on the fringe of all that happened, never once sucked into the eye of the storm. Not until now. But Deaton heard of him, of how fair he was, how strong, how the pack depended on him in various ways and capacity. The spark's father emerged from all the stories as a decent man. As someone who did not deserve this, but Deaton knew from experience that people rarely got what they deserved, and that pain and misery usually chose the innocent ones, the decent ones.

And there was pain and misery etched in the man's face, wrinkles and stress lines that would probably never fade away, not even once this was all over. They were deep and permanent like scars to always remind him of this moment regardless of the outcome. Deaton did not envy him that. But pity was not his forte, so he snuffed the emerging emotion before it formed.

"Is he... is my son all right? What happened?"

The voice was strong, almost commanding, despite how soft the words were spoken. There was a man of the law standing there, with all the authority he graciously held, even as he was apparently at the verge of breaking.

"Mistletoe. For Nemeton it is a symbol of power and rebirth if the power it emits is pure, if it isn't, it is more like wolfsbane to the wolves... It will not kill him however", he added quickly as he heard Derek growl menacingly beside him. "It will just give us some time."

"To do what exactly?"

The sheriff sounded apprehensive and Deaton did not blame him, he did just say that he used poison on his only son.

"We need to work fast. The Nemeton has a grip on Stiles but this is not its final goal. It is already reaching out. It already had Derek in its grip. Not for long, but it did. And when the alpha falls, the pack will follow. There is only one thing that needs to be done, and you have to do it, Derek."

Peter's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but enough for Deaton to register. The older wolf has always been underestimated by many, himself included, in terms of his intellect. But he was smart and perceptive, that much Deaton was aware of now. It seemed that he already knew what needed to be done, as his hands gripped Derek's shoulders with enough force to hold him back. Deaton braced himself for what he was about to say, not trying to find any placating or softening words, for there were none that could make it sound better, bearable. So, he just took a deep breath and said it.

"You have to break the mating bond."

The answering roar was deafening.


	19. The boy from the box

There was a voice in his head that did not belong there. That much Isaac knew. His formative years were spent listening to voices that were out of place, that most kids never had to listen to. Shouting horrible things at him, making him feel small, insignificant, and scared. He quickly learned to distance himself from them, to latch onto his own voice, as it was all he had to hold on to in the dark and small confines of the fridge in his basement. It was all that kept him sane, when he should have emerged a blubbering mess.

Once he became a werewolf, other voices joined his, but they felt right, they felt safe. Except for Derek's. In the beginning, his alpha's voice was jarring, abrasive from the first time he roared him out of a shift, demanding submission. It had been done to protect Stiles and, much later, Isaac realized that it was also subconsciously showing off on Derek's part, fluffing the feathers in front of his future mate. He understood why it had to be done, but back then it felt like betrayal, like his father. It took a lot of time for Isaac to harmonize with the sound of his alpha's inner voice, to fully accept the bond and his place as a beta.

He knew how to pretend really well, he did not have to act like someone drunk on unexpected power, that part was real, but the listening to, the obedience, the following, it was all make-believe. He followed as long as the goal, as the action was something he could benefit from too.

Is stared to become real once Stiles entered the picture as something more than Scott's annoying little human friend. Stiles took one look at him and saw that beneath the abused boy and the aggressive wolf pup, he was more. He was strong, he was forged in the cold, in the dark, beaten into shape with his father's fists, he did not need to be treated with kid's gloves. If anything, others needed protecting from his sharp and jagged edges. Stiles helped him find the right place in the pack. To truly listen to Derek's voice, to accept the pack bonds for what they really were. A gift.

And once he accepted, once he truly listened, he knew he would be able to pick out his alpha's voice from the sea of other voices. And what he was hearing now, was not Derek's command, it was something else, something more, disguised as the alpha. Isaac did not plan on listening to it.

He learned how to resist Derek's command after the first time he used the alpha voice on him so violently, just like early on he learned how to fight the furious pull of the full moon. And even before that, just how he taught himself how to resist succumbing into madness in the confines of the fridge. Hence, now he stood strong, deflecting the commands slipping into his head alongside his alpha's voice, while all around him, his friends shifted and howled.

His human eyes met Allison's frightened gaze. He noted her stance; she was scared but she protected Lydia with her own body. She too was strong, forged in a different kind of cold, under the unwavering gaze of her frightening mother. They bonded over their loss very quickly. She could understand him best of all his friends. Losing a parent hurt, no matter how awful or how dominating that parent was. Seeing her now, scared, and unsure, brave in the face of the danger, helped him fight the command even more.

His body moved on instinct, and he pushed her behind him, even as the other wolves snared at him, even as she struggled against him, not wanting to be coddled, not the type to just let herself be protected. Melissa was smart enough to slip through the door, she was near them, and none of the wolves spared her a single glance. She was not the one they wanted, it seemed. Isaac could only hope that she would manage to keep other people away from that room. And despite facing his pack now, he did not envy her that task.

Erica was nearest to him, her golden eyes looking glazed and feverish, her mouth twisted in a snarl, her clawed hands opening and closing like she was itching to attack. And she probably was. Just like the rest of them. Isaac calculated the odds in his head, and he did not like the results. He could take Erica in a fight, probably, she was quick and fierce, but she tended to lose control, there was no finesse to her fight, no thought. He could outsmart her, and he did have more stamina than her.

Boyd was another thing, though, what he lacked in speed, he made up in bulk and sheer strength. He could easily overpower Derek in a solo fight. Maybe if they worked with Allison, they could knock him out. But Jackson, and his whipping tail would probably not let them do that. The half-wolf did not attack yet, Isaac could swear he saw the inner battle reflected in his shifted eyes. That could have been the result of Lydia's presence. Of her weakness and need to be protected. It was Lydia, and their true love for each other, that saved Jackson from being killed or forever trapped in the kanima form. It would be no surprise if he fought off the command for her this time as well.

Scott on the other hand snapped his teeth at Allison without hesitation. There was no fight, no struggle, just plain submission to the voice. Not that it surprised him. Even back when Scott did not want anything to do with the pack, with Derek, Isaac could sense the need of belonging, the need to be a part of something. The need not to be abandoned again by a twisted version of a father figure that alphas were to their betas.

Of course that fool did not know what was driving him and allowed the conflicting emotions to tear him apart. Though Isaac did have to admit that he wouldn't know what he would do if his alpha was Peter. Nowadays, the former alpha was like a creepy pack uncle with an impeccable taste in clothes. Isaac did not know him back then when he was wrecking hell on the town blinded by madness and revenge. And all he knew about him from the time when Scott and Derek were at each other's throats, was that no one liked him. And that he died once at the hand of his nephew and his only beta.

Stiles worked really hard to make Scott forget about those "dark times", as he called it, about Peter being the one to bite him, about the distrust, the fighting. Now, looking at a shifted McCall, growling menacingly at Allison and himself, he wished Stiles was just a little less successful. Did he really have to snub that 'fight the authority' spirit of Scott's entirely. Figures, it would literally bite them, preferably not on the ass.

Erica moved first, lacking her usual speed and ferocity as if she could somehow sense that she shouldn't attack them, that they were not the enemy. Her claws missed his chest by an inch, Isaac knew he might not be so lucky next time. Still keeping Allison at his back, he kicked out his leg, feeling it connect with Erica's knee. The she-wolf howled, stumbled but did not go down.

"Watch the tail!"

Isaac reacted instinctively to the warning, jumping back, jostling Allison a bit but managing to dodge the wide swipe of Jackson's tail. Before he had a chance to do more, he saw Allison gracefully dancing from behind him, and cutting at the tail with her knife. Of course, she brought a knife to the hospital. He shouldn't even be surprised.

That was when Scott finally decided to join the fight, and Isaac intercepted him at almost the last moment before he could get to Allison. The pack was uncoordinated in their attacks and Isaac knew that it was their only advantage. He roared in Boyd's face, as he saw him approaching, hoping to give him at least a minute of pause, as he was still struggling with Scott.

Boyd moved but before he could reach Isaac, he stopped and shook his head side to side, as if he was shaking of a bad dream. Scott stopped struggling in his arms, and Isaac allowed himself to hope it was all over.

"What happened?"

Erica sounded scared, a little broken and a lot like herself, Isaac felt relief so sudden that he got lightheaded. He collapsed against Scott, who reacted quickly and caught him before Isaac could fall. He heard Allison sigh with relief behind him, but the sound felt more distant than it should. His head was still spinning with 'what ifs' and all the possible bloody scenarios. He was in the state between anxiety and calmness. His body didn't know how to handle it. There was a hand squeezing his arm, grounding him. It was Allison's, strong and delicate at the same time.

As he calmed down, and the vertigo passed, they exchanged looks that spoke volumes of how wrecked they were. Isaac chanced a glance at Lydia's prone form, lying there unaware of what just transpired. Of how close they and she were to being ripped apart by their friends, their pack.

Was that how Stiles felt on that day. This mixture of fear, disbelief, anger, and soul-crushing sadness. Or was it worse, as Isaac knew that the pack acted on orders from a force that was not easy to fight. And back then, almost on the doorstep of their house, Stiles had no way of knowing what they saw, why they attacked.

Thinking about it made his head spin, so he stopped. He had to take care of the situation at hand. He was unsure if this was permanent, the voice was gone, but it could only be a momentary reprieve. They had to do damage control. They were in a hospital room, roaring like lions and fighting not exactly quietly. They needed to get out of here, but they couldn't leave Lydia alone and vulnerable. The thought of splitting up made him think of the worst horror film tropes, but there was no way they all could stick around, not after what happened.

"Is the voice gone from your heads completely?", he asked, not looking at anyone in particular.

"How did you resist it?", there was a note of bitterness in Erica's tone.

"Is it important?", Jackson was white like a sheet, his eyes glued to Lydia's face, Isaac was sure he was running a lot of the same 'what if" scenarios as he did. "All that matters is that he did. Or coming back to our senses would have been really fucking painful."

Jackson's fingers wrapped around the bed's metal frame, knuckles white from the force of the grip. The metal protested with creaking noise.

"And yes, it's gone. But I... But we cannot be here, if it comes back."

"Jackson's right." And didn't that sound weird, it was probably the first time ever, Isaac said something like that. Not that he didn't like Jackson, but it was, well, Jackson. Their relationship has been pretty rocky at the start, considering that they were neighbors and the guy not only knew what was going on in Isaac's house, he also ignored it or treated it as an inconvenience to him and his precious sleeping schedule. Isaac tried not to think of him as the one who killed his dad. He was a tool, an unwilling participant, and the real murderer was Matt. But back when they were still on the not-so-good terms, it was hard to remember that. To not look at Jackson and feel an, all things considered, unjustified anger.

"We cannot leave Lydia alone."

"She want be alone."

Allison moved closer to the bed. Her knife clutched in her hand. Isaac expected her to offer, so he just nodded. Scott looked like he might argue, a pinched look on his face spoke of how he did not like the idea of leaving his girlfriend alone. But he did not get a chance to speak as the door opened and Melissa came back in, quickly shutting them behind her. She looked a little shaken, and there was something wild in her eyes as she looked at them.

"What the hell happened? I'm convinced they heard you even in the parking lot."

All wolves, like one, hung they heads down in shame. Being scolded by Melissa, in any capacity, affected them greatly, luckily it did not happen often. This was not their fault, but it did not help with the feeling of guilt. Isaac wondered if that was how Derek felt before Stiles sorted him out. So much guilt and shame couldn't be good for your health.

"Sorry mum, just, something came over us, and it made us do it."

Melissa let out a long-suffering sigh and shook her head. But Isaac knew she understood it deep down. You don't get tossed head first into this life without learning along the way how messed up the world really is, and how many things will forever remain out of your control. Melissa accepted it surprisingly easily, well, surprisingly for anyone else, because Isaac knew that just like him, Scott's mother knew long before how painful and messy life can be. Even without the supernatural.

"Alright, but I think it's time for you to go. Allison, would you mind staying here with me?"

"Already on it."

"Good girl. And the rest of you out. Now. Try to blend in, keep a low profile, and don't howl in my corridors, got it?"

"Got it!"

Like a group of kindergarten children in a face of a scolding teacher, they straightened their backs, spoke in unison, and walked out the room. The oppressing voice faded like it was never there and breathing was easier once they got out of the hospital. But now they were lost, where to go, what to do. And Isaac knew that they will talk, argue, brainstorm, but he was sure where they would end up going.

To their alpha. Whose pain they could feel through the bond now that the presence was gone, raw, overwhelming, and all-encompassing. And to the only person who could hurt Derek like that.

To Stiles.

* * *

It was beautiful. Glowing in the middle of the forest, calling out to her.

It was going to give her back what she lost. Her youth, her beauty that she lost at the hands of her alpha. This was not how she wanted it to happen. The boy was supposed to die, and the wolf would go crazy, madness driving him into her arms. She would love him; she would use him. She would get everything she wanted and more. Yet, she could not make herself feel disappointed, seeing the results. The Nemeton has awakened, its powers growing, the darkness drawing her in, like a beacon.

Were she still a druid, the air around the tree would suffocate her.

But she was a witch, she was a Darach.

She thrived on it.


	20. All the king's horses and all the king's men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the long wait, as a freelancer, sometimes I get swept away by work and I might not be able to stick to the earlier posting schedule. I will try to make waiting time between chapters not be longer than this though, as I have a daily writing streak to maintain regardless of the work volume.

Break the mating bond. Break it. It was circulating through his numb brain. Peter stopped him again from tearing Deaton apart. He knew, logically, that it wasn't the man's fault. That he was probably right. But logic had no hold over him. There was a ball of raw emotions inside his chest, inside his head. They were pulling him around even more than the Nemeton's command did.

He wanted to hurt someone like he was hurting. It scared him, that was the old him speaking, the one he hoped he buried in the past. It was resurfacing now, never really gone, as he looked at the crumpled body of his mate in front of him, and the man who did that stood next to him. And dared to speak such words, offering no good solutions, no real help.

Peter must have read his emotions right, because suddenly, he was right there in his face. Derek swallowed the urge to push him away, to snarl at him. His uncle's concerned face was twisting at his stomach. Making him even more irritated. 

"Get out of my way, Peter."

"Nephew..."

"Don't play the family card, it won't work."

Peter just shrugged in his irritatingly usual fashion, he always did that when he thought he was right, but they were too dumb to see it, and that only added to his frustration.

"You'll have to do it, son."

All air left him, as if he was a balloon and Noah pierced him with a needle. He felt weak in every muscle, in every bone. Like he was seconds from collapsing. He could have argued with Deaton, with Peter. He might have accepted it as a solution but still talk himself out of it. But this was Stiles's father. This was the person who once arrested him, believed him to be a murderer, saw him creeping around the town, knew that he pulled a bunch of teenagers into a way too dangerous world, and yet, despite all of this, allowed him to date Stiles. Invited him to family dinners, called him son. Was there for him and the pack when needed. Despite being in law enforcement, he allowed them to get away with a lot of things, based on faith alone that everything they did, was done because there was no other choice.

Derek could not argue with that man, could not fight him. All he could do was plead, and if that failed, he would have to do what he was asked for. Even if that would break him into little pieces.

The mating bond was sacred to wolves. If he breaks it, will he go crazy, feral from all the pain and sorrow? Will he start lashing out? He heard the stories of wolves killing their mates when the bond was broken. Would he do that too? Especially now, when there is this dark, evil creature in Stiles's place. How easy would it be to just let go of the reins and kill it.

And what if he breaks the bond and loses Stiles forever. What if that tainted, ugly caricature of the bond they shared was the only thing keeping his mate from slipping away completely. Was the risk not to great?

"Deaton, tell me now, will that not make it worse? Will I not lose him? Will I not lose my mind?"

"Derek..."

"And none of the usual, please. No guessing, no perhaps, no maybe. I need to know; we need to know."

There was something in Deaton's face that Derek did not see before. The druid hid his dislike well, but Derek knew it was there. And now it was gone, that face was void of any lingering blame. Now there was a mixture of pity, which was irritating and honesty, which was new.

"If you break the bond willingly, it will not affect you. Not in any way other than what you allow. There will be pain and despair. It will be like opening a hole in your chest and ripping out your heart. But you will survive it. And Nemeton will not reach you through it anymore. You will be weakened but so will be its influence on you. Now that it has manifested and divided itself. Now that you know its touch and voice."

He heard what Deaton did not say, what he avoided saying.

"But it will affect Stiles."

The druid had the decency to not lie. He just nodded.

"I may not know for sure, as this is new to me as well. But I believe so, yes."

"How?", he asked despite not really wanting to know and at the same time, he needed to. He needed all the facts if he was going to make a decision that big. "Dammit Deaton, whatever it is, whatever you know, tell me."

"This is not something I have ever dealt with before. I don't know. I am sorry, I wish I had the answers. I hope you will believe me, I understand that taken our past, that might be hard. The bond might as well be the only thing keeping Stiles grounded. But it's dangerous to keep it. We all know it."

Derek looked at Noah again. He did not want to make this decision alone, but he would not burden his mate's father with a choice that might as well take Stiles away from them for good. This man trusted him to do the right thing. And it seemed that everyone around him believed that doing the right thing meant breaking the bond.

Breaking the mating bond. Losing the most beloved connection he had.

There was no air left in the room, he couldn't breathe, invisible hands pressed down on his chest, and his lungs couldn't expand. His vision swam before his eyes, the last thing they registered before going fuzzy being the concerned face of the sheriff. There was no sound, he could not think, couldn't concentrate, his head was full of cotton. And he still could not breathe.

Someone was talking. A deep voice that made him feel safe, like his father's voice when he woke up from a bad dream and couldn't calm down, it was pulling him back to the light, to safety. He counted along with it, with each second, it was getting easier to breathe. His lungs hurt but he had to work through it. His sight returned and he saw the sheriff's face, he was talking to him, encouraging him to take one breath after another.

"What happened?" he winced at the sound of his voice, he sounded winded.

"You had a panic attack, son. You're okay now."

Noah helped him get up, and it was only then he noticed that at some point he must have fallen, or they helped him sit on the floor. He shot a look at Stiles, but he was still out of it. His heart lurched at the sight.

"Derek, hey, you with us, son? Don't follow the rabbit again?"

"It's hard," and that was not easy to admit, either. "I see him and think of what needs to be done, and suddenly there is no air left for me to take in. I cannot lose him. Not him too."

"I know."

"But I have to do it, don't I?"

He sounded like a kid, but he could not help it. He was not supposed to burden Noah with this. And yet, there he was, unable to not ask for the help, unable to do it himself. To make the call. It was not that he thought he loved Stiles more than his father did. But now it felt like his whole life was centered around Stiles, and it was all going to fall apart. And he just couldn't do it.

"I am sorry."

The sheriff was supporting him, sounding truly sorry, like he understood what was happening. And that sobered Derek up. It was not just about him. Noah was not supposed to be holding him up. He was supposed to be the one supporting Stiles's father. That was what Stiles would have wanted.

"I have promised him once that I will not let anything bad happen to him. I have failed him. I failed you too."

Like he failed his family, unable to see through Kate's carefully constructed image and notice the crazy underneath, failed Laura because he was too weak, too cowardly to return to Beacon Hills with her, failed his betas and almost lost them in the process. He dealt with all this, he listened to how it was not his fault, not entirely, and he moved on, lived, was happy.

Because he had Stiles, because no matter how many times he stumbled in the past, how many people he let down, he did not do wrong by his mate. He was there for him, protected him from harm, and loved him so much, his heart felt too large for his chest. But he should have known, he should have learned that nothing good could thrive under his touch. He was cursed to always let down those who trusted him, those who loved him.

Sheriff's hand on his arm did not feel supportive, it burned, a reminder of how pathetic he was, how he only added burdens to those around him.

"I can see what this does to you, son. You have not failed him, you are here, even though it hurts. You will do the right thing, even though you know that it will only bring you more pain. This is not failure."

And there was anger too and jealousy. That sheriff's eyes were dry, that he stood strong, that his voice did not break. It was not fair that Derek was the one who had to break the bond, risk going feral, carry the guilt if he lost Stiles. That he was the one who still reached out to the bond for comfort despite how twisted it felt, how horrible.

He silenced those feelings, that voice that might not even be his own. Noah did not deserve this simply for being strong, for being the support Derek needed.

His breath hitched when he felt the bonds light up, his pack was here, as if they knew he needed them. He needed every bit of support he could get. He heard them as they were braving the stairs, could hear their rapidly beating hearts, the way they drew a breath as they approached. They were broken by this too, Derek knew that, felt that through the bond, but they were there. Around him, next to him, their familiar scents soothed some of his anxiety.

"What is happening?"

Derek never heard Scott sounding so desperate, so broken. He and Stiles have had some minor falling outs over the years, especially when Allison came into the picture, but they were always there for each other when it mattered. For all intents and purposes, they were brothers bound by stronger ties than blood. Derek could imagine the pain Scott was feeling now, he felt it too and then some.

"It's the Nemeton. Deaton managed to buy us some time, but it has already began influencing me."

"So that's what it was."

Though soft spoken, the words caught Derek attention, he looked at his betas, they looked fine, physically, but there was something in their eyes that spoke of dark things, of fear.

"We have lost it in the hospital. Something made us shift and we felt the order to attack Lydia. Isaac was the only wolf that didn't listen. He and Allison stopped us, before we did something awful."

Derek looked at Isaac, but he just shrugged like it was nothing. Like it did not take a lot of strength to resist such a strong pull, like it was nothing noteworthy and special how he managed to fight it and protect his packmate. Derek made a note to make Isaac realize how much of a feat it was, when all this is over. When they rebuild, if they rebuild.

"Deaton believes Nemeton could take us over like that through the bond with Stiles. I am going to...", his throat closed, and Derek felt like it could break him completely to finish that sentence, but the pack was looking at him and at Deaton. Who stood there patiently, not wavering, not telling him not to do it. Not offering him another way out.

"I am going to break the mating bond."

Chaos erupted at his words. There was shouting, with Scott getting in his face and Erica snapping her teeth at Deaton. Stiles's fiercest defenders.

"Enough."

One word from the sheriff sufficed. It was spoken, not even shouted, but it was enough.

"This is my son we are talking about. And yet, I too see no other way. If this thing inside him gets what it wants, a lot of innocent people will die. And I know my son, he is no angel, but he would not be able to just shrug off and live with the knowledge he was a part in it."

Scott had the decency to look guilty, Erica still looked angry but at least she was quiet.

"This is going to hurt all of us, but Derek the most. Be here for him, instead of attacking him for doing the right thing, dammit. "

It was going to hurt, but he was as ready as he were ever going to be. He had to do it. Here, surrounded by his pack, and with his mate's father at his side, he felt small and alone in this. It had to be done. It had to. So, he concentrated, his entire focus on that one special bond. One deep breath was all he allowed himself before he broke it. And it did not just break, it crumbled into dust.

He felt it dissipate, he felt lighter as the dark and twisted thing lost its grip on him, and guilty, so guilty for taking a deep breath of relief. That light moment was over quickly, relief replaced by pain and despair. He howled and the wolves howled with him, gathered around him as if they wanted to take away his pain with their touch. But they couldn't. No one could, he was drowning in the sea of it, immense sadness chocked him. He tittered on the edge of another panic attack. He couldn't let go; he was too afraid he would never come back. So, he held on to his pack, drew on their strength.

It cried out too, an ugly, deep sound, and Derek couldn't tell who was really screaming, Nemeton or Stiles.


	21. The Silence

Once again Allison found herself thinking how much she hated hospitals. Here she was, surrounded by the smells and sounds that made her stomach churn in such a short while. Sitting in an uncomfortable chair guarding the door, feeling the pressure of the day on her shoulders. The white wall felt oppressive, here, in this spartan almost empty room, and Allison felt strangely claustrophobic. Lonely and trapped. She knew she could not leave, she was good at many things, but this, the silent guarding, the fighting, in this she excelled. She knew the pack trusted her with Lydia, not only because she was a human unaffected by the bonds, but also because they knew, she would sooner die than let anyone hurt her friend. 

It all happened so fast; everything went to hell in a blink of an eye. She was never afraid of Scott, not really. When she was only learning of werewolves, when her parents tried to make her fear them, or hate them in her mother's case, she did not see a monster. She saw the boy she loved, how he tried to protect everyone, how he helped his mother, how kind he was. Even in his shift, he fought against the wolf to not hurt anyone. She was apprehensive at first, it is not every day that your view of the world is turned upside down like this. Not every day you find out that the guy you are dating has claws and sharp teeth and, on a primal level, the instinct to kill. She was not afraid though. And she definitely was not afraid of him these days.

But when he snapped at her, when she saw how ready he was to tear her apart, for the first time, she was scared, not truly of him, but of the tool he became, of the hand that pulled the string. And of what he would do to her if she made the wrong move, if she failed to defend herself and Lydia. She tried not to think of what would have happened if Isaac did not break free from the voice, if she had to face them all, alone, armed just with a knife, in that tight spot between them and the bed. With all the emotions inside her, being aware that they were her friends, that they did not mean to attack her. She would be the only one entering this fight not wanting to hurt anyone.

She would have died there. At their hands. Only the voice of her mother in her head, the steel among the softness, telling her to stay strong, not to let the emotions overtake her, allowed Allison to stand, to breathe to think logically, looking back at what happened.

Her friends shifted so quickly, whoever made them do it had to be powerful, there was no doubt about that they were dealing with someone dangerous, frighteningly so. They were not ready, not if she had to judge by what she saw. And their greatest hope was lying here. Unaware of the danger she was in. Vulnerable, soft, weak, her mother would say. If you were not a part of the solution, if you were not able to pull your weight, you were a burden.

But that was not what Allison saw, not in any of her friends. They were hers to protect. What her mother would have seen an inconvenience, a weight that needed to be dropped as it pulled you down, Allison saw as a blessing. You were the stronger, the more people you lifted up. The more burden you carried - as reluctant as she was to use that word, it fit - the more strength it gave you. She did not just believe that, she was the proof of it. What doesn't kill you...

There was a sound, and first it was so soft that Allison was not sure if her brain did not just create a make-believe as it was bored and tired of all the silence. But then, she heard it again, and it was coming from Lydia's bed.

The bed rocked and with it came the noise she heard, of metal scrapping the floor, of the springs in the mattress straining. Allison jumped up from the chair at the next sound, knife clutched tightly in her hand. Lydia was spasming uncontrollably on the bed, and it once again played like the vision she had once, sans the blood, that she had to pinch herself quick to make sure it was real. 

In one fluid motion, she sheathed the knife, and then run to Lydia's aid, to keep her from falling out of bed, to not let her hurt herself. The banshee was small and frail, but the spasms were strong, and it was hard to keep her in place with just her hands. She had to do something before Lydia would hurt herself, hence, thinking on her feet, Allison climbed on the bed to use her whole body, just to keep Lydia safe through whatever this was. Her friend did not open her eyes, no sound was coming out of her lips, her face was lax, as if it did not register what was happening to the rest of her body. She twisted and turned, her bandaged head banging on the pillow. The pillow was luckily soft, and it cushioned Lydia's head better than anything Allison could do. With her body held closely, she was as safe as she could be. Allison has witnessed Erica's epilepsy attack before she was turned, and this was both so similar and unlike that she did not know what to think about it. 

She debated screaming for help, calling someone, anyone. The monitors were steady and silent, as if whatever was happening was not registering on a deeper level in the banshee's body. As if her heart and her brain had no part in this attack. This was nothing ordinary, and Allison did not know if a human nurse or doctor would help or only make things worse. Melissa might have been able to help, but she left to tend to other patients, and Allison would have to leave the room to fetch her. She couldn't leave Lydia, though. And just shouting Melissa's name would get the attention of other personnel. They would not just leave the room then to get anyone, they would rush to help, as was in their nature, as was their job. She commended most of the people who worked in the hospitals for their dedication to save lives, she would not begrudge them for rushing to help Lydia, it just would not be a good thing. She knew that somehow.

No, her only option was to wait it out, to hold onto Lydia and hope that this was going to pass soon. That she was not making a mistake that would cost them dearly. The shakes were getting weaker, or at least she felt that she needed less and less force to keep Lydia on the bed. They were becoming infrequent, with small pauses which she used to take a breath, as opposed to the constant shaking that it was when it started. 

Finally, they stopped altogether. Again, there was no sound following that, Lydia's face was still relaxed, she was still deep in the comma. And now Allison felt like shaking. She collapsed next to her friend, her muscles spasming too, but she knew that this was just a rapid adrenaline withdrawal. She was going to be fine. They both were going to be fine. She repeated this as mantra until the spasms were gone, until she felt more balanced. 

There was a movement beneath her, with a sinking heart, Allison braced herself for another round of shakes. Her muscles hurt, her heart was still in an overdrive, but she was ready, she would hold on for how long she would have to. Nothing was going to happen to Lydia on her watch.

But no shakes came, the movement slow, gentle, like of a person waking up from a dream with body still soft from sleep. A drastic juxtaposition to what happened earlier. Allison chanced a look at Lydia's face. She feared that it would once again be void of any signs of consciousness. This time though, the banshee's eyelids fluttered. Her face was still but now it resembled more sleep softness than the unnatural stillness from moments ago. 

"Lydia?" Allison reached out to stroke her cheek, before finally climbing out of bed.

Her body protested the movement, her back stiffening like after a long fight. She debated getting the chair but there was no time for it, and she had to conserve as much of her energy as possible. In their lives, they never knew what would happen next, and how much strength they would need to survive it. So, she just leaned heavily on the bed, keeping her eyes on Lydia's face. 

"I believe that you can hear me, and that you are coming back to us. Stiles said it is all about believing, and I might not have his spark, but my belief might still be worth something, right? We need you, Lyds."

She kept talking, pleading, observing the movement behind Lydia's eyelids, waiting for the moment she opens her eyes. There was an urgency to that waiting, the lack of patience she usually exhibited. She worried so much, about the pack, about Stiles, about Lydia. And she was left in the dark, without the pack bonds, she had no way of knowing what was happening to them. She did not know what just happened to Lydia. She did not know anything, and that made her scared. She really needed Lydia to wake up. 

Seconds passed, maybe minutes, Allison did not track the time, and nothing was happening. Lydia looked like she was frozen in between comma and consciousness, like she was trapped in a dream. She did not seem to be in distress or pain. She just was lying there, her eyes moving under closed eyelids, her lips opening and closing softly, gently, like she was talking to someone, but no sounds came out. Her fingers were moving over the covers. It was increasingly pronounced with time. And yet, it led nowhere. 

Frustration crept upon Allison, but she fought it, it was not Lydia's fault she was not waking up nor did she have any obligations to do what Allison wanted her to do. It was hard to just stand there and wait but if that was what Lydia needed of her, she would stand there, believe that everything would be all right, and just wait.  
With how gentle the process was, she did not expect Lydia to just spring up, as if waking from a nightmare, a silent scream twisting her face and only Allison's fast reflexes stopped her again from falling to the floor.

"Lyds, I've got you. It's okay, I've got you. Everything is fine."

"It isn't."

Allison couldn't tell what surprised her more, hearing Lydia's voice or how hollow it sounded, how defeated. It hurt her almost physically. 

"I can no longer hear his voice. He is gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments <3 They are food for the soul!


	22. Dark, darker, the darkest

Walking nightmare. That's what it was, a walking nightmare. Scott kept trying to wake up, but he knew he wouldn't. Though all this felt like a bad dream, he knew it was real. He felt angry, sad, useless, a combination setting fire to his veins. It was so easy to take it out on Derek; they mended the relationship between them but with all that happened it was so simple to go back to the old ways. To start blaming the alpha, without Stiles between them as a buffer.

Stiles. His brother, his first ever friend, his support, someone who he could always rely on, was lying motionless before them, and the bond that tied them together was gone. Replaced by pain and so much sorrow, Scott's body felt too small to contain all of it. It spilled out through tears flowing down his face and through the waves of anger that shook him, that made his hands tremble. Only the presence of Stiles's father made him contain the anger inside, stopped more from spilling out, from drowning them all in it.

It was both harder and easier when Stiles was screaming. It was difficult to listen to him scream like that but at least he was conscious, now, he was just lying there, not moving, only they supernatural senses allowed them to hear him breathing. He looked dead, pale, still bloody, thin, like he had been starving for months but it has only been days. Nemeton was draining him, and now they left him to the mercy of that tree.

Scott understood why they did it, he really did. It wasn't like he already forgot what happened at the hospital. Coming back to his senses with his claws and fangs out, entangled in a fight with Isaac, remembering how all he could think about was tearing out Allison's throat , was horrible. He hasn't lost control like that since the early days, back when he didn't even know he was a werewolf, back when he had no control on the pull of the wolf inside him. And this was even worse, worse than a full moon. He did not remember ever shifting so fast, ever going in so deep that he did not even recognize his own pack.

He would forever be grateful to Isaac for doing the impossible and resisting. For protecting all of them, for protecting him from regaining control in a world in which he would not be able live with himself. And he had to remember that feeling, understand what they averted to make all this easier. To understand better why Derek had to do what he did.

It was terrible to know that it was done through the bond he had with Stiles, that it could happen again. That the bond between Derek and Stiles being so strong was a curse, if it had been weaker, maybe it wouldn't have to be broken. Maybe Scott and the rest of the pack would not have to wait with bated breaths to see what would happen to their beloved friend.

Losing the bond with a pack member, regardless of how it was lost, hurts, it's like someone taking a knife to you and carving out a piece of your flesh, leaving behind a wound that will scar. And that will be painful even after it heals. If it heals. Scott could not imagine this raw, open wound ever closing.

Every face he looked at was ashen, eyes filled to the brink with sadness, shoulders slumped in defeat, and Derek, Derek was the worst. They tried to offer him support, send him strength through their bonds but that was not enough. At first, he seemed almost relieved, calmer, like a weight was lifted, and that probably was true. Scott felt that too for a moment, when that ugly, twisted thing tying him to Stiles was gone. But then, Derek just crumbled. Had they not held him; he would have fallen to the floor. He did not go feral, like they all feared he might, but this, this could possibly be worse.

It was pure heartbreak, the body of their alpha trembled, he knelt in front of the ash ring, his hands tried to reach Stiles but couldn't break through the barrier, his face almost unrecognizable under the mask of sorrow. He kept on whispering apologies, begging Stiles to open his eyes, to be all right. The longer Stiles remained unconscious, the more frantic the whispers became. Tears were flowing freely down the alpha's face, shoulders shaking with the silent cries. Scott's heart was breaking too at that sight. Erica tried to hug him, but he shrugged him off, his whole being focused on Stiles. It was a gesture so much like the old Derek that Scott felt a pang of fear that they would lose Derek too, to a different kind of feral behavior.

He could see that already, under the uncharacteristic display of weakness and emotions, something was brewing. The way he moved away from his pack members. The way he shielded his face from them, how he kept only looking at Stiles, but as the cries subsided, there was something else in their place. Guilt, Scott noted. It was so familiar and yet such a distant memory, that it was jarring to see that expression on Derek again.

"Derek," he tried but the alpha just scowled.

"Don't."

Derek's voice was void of any warmth and softness that Stiles managed to put in it over the years.

"What now?"

Scott tensed as the alpha turned to Deaton with so much hostility in one question that he was afraid it could turn into a fight. He did not want to fight Derek, but he would, if it meant stopping him from doing something he would later regret. He felt the tension of everyone around them through the bonds. They were all waiting for something that would ignite this keg of powder. That would help them release the building up steam. The aftermath would be ugly, but maybe they would stop feeling like they have been stretched to the maximum inside. Anything was better than this waiting.

And that was the moment, the universe decided to prove him wrong. That there were things worse than standing around your best friend’s prone form, waiting for an explosion of violence among people you consider family.

It was watching a living darkness, its long tendrils, rising from the floor, wrapping themselves around Stiles. They all howled and run at him, without even a plan what they would do if they got to him, but they all bounced back from the invisible ash barrier. Scott turned to the sheriff and Deaton, but the shout for them to break it died in his throat as one moment the darkness was there and the next it was gone. And so was Stiles.

Scott howled, and a choir of other voices joined his. This was a mix of anger and pain that ripped the sound out of his throat. The only one remaining silent was Derek. He was just looking, wide-eyed and shocked, at the space where Stiles has just been. Half-shifted and crazed, but so broken that Scott could not see a way to put him back again, that he could hardly imagine him whole again even if they got Stiles back. And if they didn't...

His phone rung, making everyone jump. He recognized the ringtone and it filled him with unexplained dread, Allison called and the synchronization with Stiles's disappearance couldn't be a coincidence. His suspicion was confirmed when he picked up and it wasn't his girlfriend on the other side. It was Lydia.

"What did you do?"

She sounded agitated, and Scott felt a jab of indignation. He didn't do anything other than support his alpha's decision. But he did not say that, and he suspected there must have been a reason why she did not call Derek. Maybe she felt, despite not feeling the pack bonds like they did, that Derek was suffering.

"Scott? What happened? I cannot hear him anymore... He is gone! What happened?"

She was becoming hysterical, and though her words were frightening, it was that loss of composure that frightened him more. He knew Lydia better than half the people in the pack; only Jackson, Allison, and Stiles knew her just as well or even better. He knew that she was not the cold-blooded ice queen, the quiet, calm genius. She was in a way more neurotic than Stiles and prone to drama, but he never heard her sound like that. Like she couldn't process the loss, the disaster that unfolded while she was not looking.

"Derek broke the mating bond."

There was a scream on the other end, a human wail, harder to listen to than the scream of a banshee. More raw, emotional. Then there were other sounds, Allison's muffled voice, the sound of the phone connecting with the floor, and yet somehow still working, not disconnecting the conversation. The sound of Lydia's cries.

"We had no other choice," he whispered despite knowing that no one on the other side can hear him. He needed to say that, for Derek, for themselves, as they all allowed it.

Now with Stiles gone, the words felt like sand, they almost choked him. But they still sounded true. They did not have another choice. He looked to Deaton and saw him nod as their eyes met. He looked so sure, Scott knew that the pack was wary of the druid for all the withheld information and reluctance to help, but for him it was different. Deaton was there for him at the darkest moments, alongside Stiles. Scott trusted him, trusted his judgement. If Deaton was still believing they did the right thing, it was enough. Until he had any proof that they made a mistake, he would hold on to that belief.

"Scott, hello, Scott, you still there?"

"Yes, yes, I am here. Allison, we had to do it. Tell her, please."

Lydia was still crying in the background, and it hurt. And Scott just had to make her see that they didn't do it because they wanted to. They did not want to create another problem, it just happened, and they needed to get Stiles back. Now, as soon as possible. And they needed Lydia, they needed her so much, and she had to see that it was not their fault. She had to get it together and help them.

There was a voice in his head telling him that he was being selfish, that everyone had the right to their own emotions. But time was of the essence. They needed to start looking but they did not know how. They did not even know where to start. It's not like it was easy to find the Nemeton. It was not like they had a map, a location, anything.

"Ally, please, we need Lydia here. Nemeton took Stiles, we need her."

"Scott," the strength in her voice, the unspoken command, calmed him down. "I will bring Lydia to Stiles's home as soon as I can. Take care of Derek and the sheriff, see if you can feel or find any traces of Stiles. Focus on your tasks. Wait for us."

There was a no-nonsense, calm coldness in Allison's voice that always sent chills down Scott's back whenever it emerged. It reminded him too much of Victoria, of her cold demeanor, of her calm attitude as she tried to murder him. It reminded him of the time Allison went off the rails. But now, it was what he apparently needed, as his body relaxed, his mind stopped racing. He had a task; he was going to carry it out. 

He was going to stay calm and collected. His heartbeat slowed to its normal tempo, his breaths evened out, he turned to Derek to reassure him, to tell him they will fix all of this.

That's when they heard the laugh of woman. It was loud, and eerily creepy, and Scott immediately knew, it had to be the witch. His blood run cold with fear and then hot with rage. The shift was impossible to stop, and in a blink of an eye, the pack raced out of the house to meet the person who did this to them. 

She was young and beautiful with her long brown hair and big brown eyes. She smiled at them, but it was not a friendly smile. Her voice was soft, but it made Scott afraid again.

"Hello, Hale pack. My name is Jennifer and it's about time we met."


	23. The wicked witch

Nemeton was a bit of a disappointment, she felt that in her very bones. Its gloriously dark power was somehow much lesser than what she expected. It gave her some of what she wanted, healed her face of its scars, of the age that left its mark on it. It filled her body with strength and vigor she forgot she ever had. It made her feel more powerful, and yet Jennifer was far from satisfied. She felt like she was living on borrowed time. The tree was not yielding, its power concentrated away from its roots, out of her reach.

It was that Spark, the pale-faced, wide-eyed boy she cornered in the woods. For a moment, Jennifer believed her plan worked better than she even planned. Sure, Hale killing him would have been even greater, but you don't look a gifted horse in the mouth. She was blind, standing in the darkness surrounding the tree, basking in its power, she was blind to the truth.

The boy made the Nemeton stronger against her, resistant to her whispered words and spells. It did not need her, already having a skin to walk in, a voice to speak with, someone to control. It did not need someone that would resist, that would use all that power for themselves. All she was good for was being a tool, used to get Nemeton what it needed. She felt impotent rage, she felt betrayed.

She would not let that be the end. There was so much more she could get, so much more she deserved. She was resolved to do something, staring at the tree like that could make it submit to her. And that's when she felt that something was changing, the atmosphere became unbearably thick. The shift in the air was sudden. The Nemeton became furious, she couldn't understand why at first. But then she felt it, the diminishing of its aura, and Jennifer couldn't help but feel impressed, someone managed to put a muzzle on pure darkness. But it did not last long. The tree struggled in its own impotent rage, but then it roared, and she felt scared. It was a weird sound, seemingly impossible to be made by a tree, but it was real, loud, terror-inducing. The trees roots rose, like shadow tentacles, and dove back into the ground. There was a screeching sound, and Jennifer realized that it was the tree screaming, it was even more alive than she suspected.

As the tendrils returned, they were carrying something, someone, wrapped in their tight embrace. She did not know what dark magic was at work here, but it was the kid, Stiles. He was pale, thin like a skeleton, bloodied with stitches across his face, he looked like death warmed over. And he was not moving. 

Nemeton laid him on the stump, dark smoke rising and wrapping his body tightly, and right then, Jennifer understood that she needed to get out of there. A little voice inside her told her that this was all Nemeton needed. It did not need her anymore. There was a change in the air around her, minuscule, but she felt it, she was too well attuned with the magic. The atmosphere thickened, but before anything could reach her, she whispered a quick spell and in a blink of an eye, she was standing in front of the Spark's house. The wolves were all there, she felt them. And she needed them. She felt the laugh bubbling to the surface; she couldn't stop it. She laughed, from all the penned-up frustration and anger and now the realization that she needed that bunch of kids to help her. She knew they heard her; they would not be very good wolves if they didn't.

They came out running, young-faced, hot-blooded, angry. Unaware of how little it would take for her to make them all die. She did feel tempted to show off her powers, but she needed them, and if she learned one thing in their dealing with wolves over the decades, it was that they responded to violence with more violence. And at that point there was no reasoning with them, they needed to be put down. Which would be quite unfortunate in the current circumstances.

So she just smiled, reign in her will to lash out and introduced herself. The reactions varied. Some looked at her dumbfounded, some looked like they wanted to rip out her throat, and one blue-eyed wolf watched her with a calculating gaze.

"What do you want?"

The alpha stood tall, trying to shelter his pack with his body, foolishly believing that he could protect them from her. Jennifer decided to allow that illusion to last, raising her hand in the air in a placating gesture. Like she was the prey here, and they the predators she needed to appease. On the basic level, those were animals, and she knew they must have sensed the danger, but their anger somehow overrode that instinct that would make a real animal run. Anger worked to her advantage better than fear, she could work with that.

"I know what happened, I know that Nemeton has your spark."

"Came here to gloat?" The blond wolf, the fierce girl that Jennifer in other circumstanced would probably admire, looked seconds away from leaping to attack.

"I came here to help."

That made them pause, for a moment there was blessed silence around, all that growling really started to grind on her nerves. But it did not last long. They just started shouting over each other.

"Yeah, right!"

"How dare you, you bitch!"

"It's your fault..."

"... you want to help, get lost!"

Jennifer allowed it again, she let the children air out their anger, she was feeling rather gracious at the moment. They were lucky she really did need them. The alpha refrained from screaming, he just watched her with stormy, cold eyes. The blue-eyed man from before was just watching her too. She could see the family resemblance to the alpha, as she watched them carefully. And with a jolt she realized that he was the one, she should be careful with. He did not feel as the most powerful of them all, but his aura was twisted, slimy, a kindred spirit of sorts. One that would stab you in the back with your own knife. She needed to keep her wits about her and her guard up around him.

She felt a strange arousal at that thought. She was so used to walking among sheep, in all forms and sizes, it felt good to be in the presence of a true wolf again. As quickly as she felt it, she reined it in, but she suspected she was a second too slow, as his nostrils flared, and he looked at her with that calculation in his eyes again. She couldn't have that, she could not have him believe that he could have any kind of power over her, that he could play games with her because of her little slip up. So, she focused on him and for a second, she let him look beneath the veil, beneath what Nemeton gave her. She showed him the real her. He flinched, the calculation was gone, and Jennifer won this round. She just did not expect it to feel this bitter.

The young ones finally settled down; no doubt influenced by their Alpha stoic attitude. But Jennifer recognized that for what it was. It was not calmness that guided that man, it was numbness, indifference. On some level, a part of her left in the past understood it. If life drags you through broken glass, there is only so much pain you can take before you shut off. But most of her, the part that clawed out of the ground her past tried to bury her under, the one that shed all empathy and weakness to survive, that part saw an opening, saw her chance. She would promise him what he wanted the most, she wouldn't even be lying, she did want the spark away from the tree, but she would conceal everything else, she would lie and manipulate and she would get what she wanted in the end.

And they all would be in her debt and under her power. 

"I know where the Nemeton is."

That got all their attention and they got immediately silent. But she was not done with the revelations, she still had an ace up her sleeve ready to be played.

"And I know exactly where your precious Stiles is."

There it was, what she was waiting for, the crack in the alpha's apathetic demeanor. The little broken and battered hope, that he tried desperately to squash, to not show, if the twitches in his face were anything to go by. And Jennifer was not surprised, it was showing weakness to a predator, which she was despite trying not to appear like one. But whatever it was he was trying to do, it was not succeeding, she saw it, how much hope he projected on his face.

"Why should we believe you?" It was even in his voice as he tried to hide it, tried to sound hostile, aggressive but he sounded more like a wounded puppy. 

That was what love did, it made you weak, soft, it allowed you to get hurt, Jennifer learned that the hard way years ago, decades even, as she was dying, and it was love that almost killed her. It was a treacherous, dangerous emotion that anyone would be better without.

"You do not have to believe me, but it would be better for everyone if you did. I want your spark out of Nemeton's hands just as much as you do. Believe that if you won't believe anything else."

They wanted to argue, Jennifer did not have the time nor the patience to humor them anymore, so she did the one thing that would turn them into obedient little puppies that she needed. The spell she used was simple, requiring almost no effort, and worth it, as it didn't carry any risk but offered great reward. She showed them Nemeton, and their Stiles wrapped tighter and tighter by the shadowy roots, his pale face, blood dripping from his hands, the boy was now naked, covered only in shadows, so they could see his protruding collarbones, could count his sticking out ribs. His face was lax, it showed no pain, no awareness of the situation he was in. The alpha took few steps forward, like he was trying to reach the boy, so Jennifer dispelled the magic and the vision was gone. 

"It could be a lie," the blue-eyed beta whispered, his voice trembling, his eyes focused on where the vision just was.

"It isn't." 

It was not Jennifer, the alpha was the one defending it, now even more broken than before. 

"It was real. All right, what do you want from us? What can we do to get him back?"

"You are just cannon fodder," she did not see the need to sugarcoat the truth, they would do whatever it takes, she did not doubt that even for a second. "It's your banshee that I need."

"And you've got me."

Jennifer turned to the redhead, which she did not feel approaching and froze for a moment. The girl looked terrifyingly fierce, but like she was no longer sane, her long red hair flowed around her body, her eyes were feverish, she was deadly pale, there were stitches on her forehead, she was in a hospital gown, it was hanging loose on her slight frame, but her voice, it was strong, it was not a voice of a human. She looked at Jennifer, her eyes both hot and cold, calculating. She walked towards her without fear or hesitation, the human huntress following close behind, like a bodyguard, but not attempting to get in the banshee's way.

"If you have a plan how to get him back, I will follow you, we all will. But if you are wasting our time, if you try to hurt us or deceive us, you will regret it."

Jennifer could feel, despite not wanting to be bothered by it, that it was not an empty threat. This child, this girl not even half her age, scared her, for the first time Jennifer felt more fear than when facing the Nemeton. Banshees were frightening creatures but this one, this one defied all expectations, this one was something else. And Jennifer knew she would have to watch her back around this one. 

Maybe she did underestimate the Hale pack just a little.

"All right, since we got this out of the way, how about we start working on getting your spark back."

The wolves threw back their heads and howled in unison, but the banshee did not look away, keeping her eyes on Jennifer, looking at her and Jennifer trembled, questioning her choices for a moment. But there was no going back. 

They were in it together now, for their own reasons and gains. Against a tree older than the town itself and more powerful than most of these kids understood. And under the banshee's intense stare, Jennifer lost some of her arrogant confidence that it would be easy to ensnare this pack but gained more of the hope that the Nemeton would bow to them and give them what they want.

She saw all that in those feverish, insane eyes, the power, the strength that even a magic tree could not withstand. For the first time in a long time, she fought emotions that she tried to bury inside herself forever, envy, admiration, fear. 

Anger. 

Anticipation. Thrill. Excitement before the fight.

For the first time in years, here, being subjected to those eyes, Jennifer felt alive. She both loved it and hated it, and she needed to be done with all this nonsense. She needed it all to be over.

"Let's begin, shall we."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the wait, I promise this fic is not going to be abandoned and we are already nearing the end, so I hope you will stick with me.
> 
> Thank you for kudos and comments, they are a balm for my soul <3


	24. Igniting the spark

There was pain and darkness and Derek. In all of this, there was always Derek. Deep down Stiles knew him, remembered him, his touch, his love. It wanted Derek too, knew him, from before, from when Stiles did not even hear of him. It spoke to Stiles, told him stories in its own voice unlike any other. It spoke directly in his head, and Stiles did wonder if that was truly the voice of darkness or if he created it himself. But he listened, as it spoke of Derek, Derek, Derek.

That was the one thing it allowed him to hold on to. And Stiles did hold on, the mating bond burned brightly, the only source of light in the darkness inside himself. He grabbed onto it with all his might.

So when it broke, all he could do was scream and sink deeper and deeper into the darkness inside his head. It screamed with him, a shrill angry voice that hurt him. His body was so weak, he could not move it even if he were in control of it. And that thing inside his head couldn't move his limbs either. He hoped for a second that it would just leave him alone in that darkness, now that he was untethered, now when there was no Derek in there anymore. It did not want Stiles for Stiles, he felt it, it really only wanted Derek. It wanted to use him, Stiles felt it, when that thing, the Nemeton, he knew now that it was the Nemeton, when it crawled over the bond and it took, it took what it could of the power of the alpha, of his influence over the pack. It tried to control all of them, and Stiles could not allow it, the anger was the first thing he really felt in a long time, he knew it was his, because Nemeton did not like it, it screamed at him but Stiles for one heroic moment, did not listen, he acted. And he saw Derek rise against the influence with his little push.

It cost him dearly, he angered the thing that lived under his skin, and it knew how to hurt him. The moment he felt Derek slip away from its control, the druid threw something on them, and the pain was so great, combined with the anger of the Nemeton, that Stiles slipped away again. Too far to even see the surface, to look through his own eyes. He was just floating in his mind, and all he could do was hang on to hope.

Hope that shattered along the mating bond.

Hope that became non-existent the moment that he realized that, although he was no longer connected to the alpha, the Nemeton was still not going to let go of him.

He felt weightless, like he was floating, his consciousness was there still, there still was a place deep inside of him, where he felt like himself, but that place was getting smaller and smaller at a frightening speed. He could feel his body being wrapped in something cold and made out of nightmares. It pulled at him and the still aware part of Stiles understood there and then why it was so easy for Nemeton to get to him, to control him, why it was so strong here, why it could just snatch him up. There was a ley line under his house. Perhaps responsible for his awakened spark, and why the pack was so drawn to this place.

And now, it allowed the tree to snatch him up, surrounded by shadowy roots, Stiles could do nothing but hang on to the remains of his sanity, to the last shreds of his identity, but Nemeton was swallowing that too, its tendrils trapping him on the outside and probing inside his head, shrouding everything that made him Stiles in a thick veil that he could not pierce.

Wherever the tree took him, it was even colder, almost freezing, and it was dark, he was so used to being in the dark, he almost forgot what light felt like, he was not a were, but even he could feel the thick atmosphere, the surrounding evil. He shivered internally, his control over the body, already practically nonexistent, now was completely gone. His clothes fell off him as the tree was dragging him to itself, so he felt his naked body connect with the stump.

With dread, he realized that Nemeton took him to its center, to its remains, this was where its evil aura and power were concentrated. No wonder he felt so helpless here, so crushed and terrified. Here his fragile mind was no longer any opponent for the Nemeton, he stood no chance against it, and yet, he still tried to hang on to his name, his memories, his ability to think and feel. He did not want to give that up, did not want the tree to rob him of everything. He was the most terrified that if he allows it, if the tree takes away it all, that he will never be able to get it back. That it will be erased permanently or hidden by Nemeton in a place he will never be able to reach. That his pack will be able to only recover his body, but they will never get his mind back. That he will never be Stiles again.

He was frightened of that happening, so he hanged on, to the memory of destroying Scott's sandcastle, of holding his mother's hand in the hospital, of his father's supporting hand on his shoulder, of Derek's first carefree smile. He recalled the feeling of his pack surrounding him, huddled together in front of the TV, he remembered the feeling of splinters in his fingers as they renovated their house, the heavy and light feeling of the key in his hand, as Derek told him it was his house too whenever he was ready to move in.

He held on to the bad times as well, the helpless feeling under the influence of the kanima venom, Erica's epilepsy attack, the blood in his mouth as Gerard pummeled him with his fists, the first horrible fight with Derek when they almost called it quits as the alpha refused that he needed help, finding out about the purpose of the freezer in Isaac's basement.

He couldn't stop his mind from going into the places he did not want to revisit, like the times when his mother attacked him, shouting how he was out there to kill her. The time his dad was shot on duty, and for a long time he could not get any information on how serious it was, and when he thought he was going to be an orphan. The fallout after they kidnapped Jackson, disappointing his dad, the ugly knowledge that he was responsible for his father's suspension. All the lying about the supernatural that put a distance between them. And more recent pain of the hopeless, terrible feeling as his pack attacked him.

He did not want to think about those things, and yet he held on to those images as they passed his mind, as those moments made him Stiles too, and he could not just let go of them, even if he wanted to. He could not willingly give up a part of himself, as others were ripped out of him by force. So, he took the good with the bad, held on to both and his identity against the raging storm. He knew, deep down, that he would not be able to hold against the onslaught forever. The tree was powerful and relentless in its attacks, it held onto him and took him to the one place that was almost impossible to find. If even anyone would even be trying to find him.

He knew that it was not fair to think that and he could understand why Derek broke the bond, he did, after all feel the Nemeton take advantage of it to control Derek, and once it had an alpha in its grasps it would have the whole pack. And Stiles would not be able to stop it every time it tried; he was too weak for that. And whatever Deaton did, it might have slow Nemeton down but that still was no match for it. So, he understood. But he couldn't help that it hurt.

It hurt to be abandoned.

For the wolves, the bond was something almost physical, they could touch it, hold it. They could take comfort in it, when needed. Before his spark awakened, Stiles envied them this tangible connection between each other, the feeling of being a whole unit, a true pack. Sure, his friends did reach out as much as they could to the humans (and the banshee) of the group, but he still wanted to have what they had. He wanted to feel the bonds they formed between each other. And that was the first thing his spark allowed him to do. Once it awakened, it felt his desire, his intense need for it, and allowed him to feel those connections. For him though, those were not just physical things, for him, they burned like fire, they kept him warm, they fueled his belief. Without those bonds, his spark would be pretty much useless, he would be useless, nothing but a hyper-active kid with a body and mind that didn't seem to want to work together. Those bonds made him something more, something better.

And none of them could even compare to the bond he shared with Derek. That one burned brighter than the rest, it was his anchor in the tough times, his main source of confidence, it soon became a part of him, a part of who he was. It was unlike how Derek felt the mating bond, from what he explained, it was like a limb, like a part of his body, it too was his anchor, but it served to strengthen the hold he had on his wolf side, it made him stronger. For Stiles, it made him complete, it was a part of his mind, soul, and identity.

As the bond disintegrated, a part of Stiles died with it, a part that was impossible to ever recover as it was permanently fused with that bond. However this situation will be resolved, whatever happens to him, one thing he was sure of, the person who he was, the Stiles he has been until now, has died on the floor of his home, surrounded by a ring of ash and a circle of his friends. He died at the hand of his mate, who was as much of a victim in this as he was. But while Stiles understood that logically, his emotions were a whole other thing. Under the onslaught of Nemeton's dark energy, trying to rob him of what remained of the old him, trying to mold him into its tool, Stiles could not help but feel resentment, anger, hate even. The sting of betrayal left a wound that grew and grew, until it covered all of him with rage.

It felt good to feel that, to release the pent-up emotions and let them course through his veins. Let the hate and the hurt fuel him as he was locked in the battle of wills with Nemeton. That was who Stiles was, yes, he was loyal and caring, yes, he made sure his father ate healthy, he took care of Derek and the pack. He would have died for them.

But, deep down, he was also the person that would kill for them. He was not a diplomat, his first solutions, that he kept silent now, that he bit his tongue before blurting out, were those of violence. A pack tried to take their territory, rip their alpha's throat out, a feral monster terrorizes the town, put it down, don't just lock it up in a place from where it can escape. No mercy, no empathy, he believed in final solutions, and was always the one to bare teeth first.

It felt liberating to be himself, even in those circumstances. He could feel that Nemeton both approved of it, being the epitome of darkness, and yet it was angry about it too, as it shielded a part of Stiles from its hungry tendrils. 

But as the dust settled, the voices changed. The Nemeton calmed down, its anger not as tangible in the air around Stiles. When it spoke, directly into his soul, Stiles felt the words settle something deep inside him. It stopped feeding his rage and reached out for something else buried deep inside. Pain. 

He has been abandoned, he has been hurt and scarred, by the people he trusted. They let go of him. They were not his true pack; Derek was not his true mate. They would have hanged on to him if they were. They would have saved him. There was no place for logic here, only emotions now. Raw, blinding emotions amplified by Nemeton's words and its darkness. Something had to give, and Stiles felt something break inside of his mind. And the dark recess of Stiles's mind, the void pieces of him that he kept under lock and key began seeping out, slowly numbing the emotions that flooded him whole. And the Nemeton caressed him, taking a hold of him once more, and Stiles no longer fought it. It promised him that it would never abandon him. And Stiles listened to it, as it sounded exactly like what he wanted to hear.

Everything was quiet now, and Stiles felt numb, barely feeling the tendrils around him. He was safe and he was taken care of. Nemeton would hang on to him. And for the first time since they started struggling, that was what Stiles wanted. 

There was no one to fight this for anymore. Only Nemeton was by his side. And Stiles was so tired, so done with all this. The next time Nemeton asked, the next time it tried to take the total control, he let it.

He let go.


	25. No fury like a banshee

She was furious, that word did not fully encompass what she felt, but it was the closest. She left them alone for one minute, not by her own choice, and they managed to mess up that much. Incredible. She listened, with feign patience and calmness, to Allison explaining what happened when the whole pack was in her room. How close they were to dying. She was smart enough to immediately figure out why Derek believed that there was no other way out than to cut Stiles off. And Derek was a born wolf, he had to know what it meant for an alpha of the pack to break a mating bond with someone. It has severed all the bonds Stiles had with them, as he was no longer accepted by the alpha. It cut him off from all support. It cut him off from her. And that made her blood boil.

If only she was there to stop it.

Before the accident, before Nemeton tried, and failed, to kill her, she could hear a faint whisper, it was too quiet, to subdued, covered in the other voices that filled her head. But as she lay in hospital, cut off from the rest of the world, she could hear it, and she could focus on it.

It was a cry for help, desperate, small, and most probably made unconsciously. But she had no doubt who it was that was crying out. It was Stiles. A part of him still fought Nemeton in any possible way. A part of him was still there. She tried to reach out to him but despite all that she has learned about controlling her banshee powers, it was difficult. But not impossible. All she needed was time, and she needed to focus, and she would be able to get to Stiles, she would be able to help him shake this all off. He needed support, he needed to be made stronger, she saw that, when she was at his home, she nearly missed it, because she was so focused on the darkness surrounding him but Stiles was still there, below the surface, not deep enough to be unreachable.

She would have gotten to him if they let her. She was sure of that. But just as she has gotten near, the voice has gone silent. It was so sudden, it felt like it was ripped from her hands by some force. And then she felt the screams in her head, voices that her body couldn't contain anymore, and she woke up.

Just to find out that it was Derek that ripped Stiles away from her, away from salvation, away from the pack. She cried, she screamed, while Allison tried to calm her down. Finally, she managed to get a grip on herself, push down the sorrow and anger. The pack did not need another burden, another stone thrown their way. They were not acting out of menace, they just did not know that she could reach Stiles, she had to remind herself of that ever so often. That it was not their fault, that they meant no harm, that that was probably really the only solution they could come up with.

It was hard to calm down, to focus, for a moment she has seen the light at the end of the tunnel and now it was dark again.

"Lyds, you're ready to leave?"

"Yes."

She followed Allison to the car. The doctors tried to stop her, stupefied by her quick, strange recovery not agreeing to release her on her own request. Melissa was not there, and the other nurses refused to return her clothes to her, so Allison broke her out in nothing but her gown. Now, Lydia was free to leave, free to be taken to Stiles's house, and her window for calming down, for forgiving Derek, was getting smaller and smaller.

Allison did not break the speed limit, but she got as close to it as she could, and it did not take them long to get to Stiles's house. Silence filled the car the whole time. It did not feel awkward nor was it an angry one, it was more charged with tension than anything else, with Allison focused on the road and getting them there in once piece and with Lydia lost in thoughts, looking through the window at the passing cars, a little bit fearful, with her head full of the images of the crash, of that deer jumping out of nowhere.

Her human ears heard the growling the minute they pulled up, and once she emerged from the car, she immediately realized why the wolves were so agitated. That woman couldn't be anyone else but the witch. Lydia didn't need her to confirm it, the voices were screaming at her, enraged and in warning. But she was not scared, she was fury, she was the voice of death, she could scream that woman into oblivion if she tried to lay a hand on anyone else in the pack. And the woman must have realized that, as she no longer smirked or looked like a cat that was standing before a family of mice.

Luckily, it turned out that she was not there to fight. She had a suggestion that Lydia found, to be honest, quite outrageous, but which she had no choice but to consider. Working with her seemed to be a bad idea but Lydia was all out of good ones and it was still better than nothing. For the time being, she ignored the pack, still feeling like she needed more time before facing them, not to say anything hurtful, not to drive the knife deeper. Their pain was palpable in the air, and she could see through Derek's stoic facade, how deep the wound was, how great the hurt.

All that mattered was that they needed to get Stiles back, tear him out of the Nemeton's shadowy claws. 

"What is the grand plan, then?"

She did not bother keeping the hostility and the disdain out of her voice, she did not need to play nice with the witch and she was not going to.

"I don't think it would be wise to discuss them here, at the junction of the ley lines. Oh, you didn't know?" The witch seemed both genuinely surprised and unimpressed. "I guess none of you has any magic, I am surprised your druid did not know that, though."

All of them turned to Deaton as one, he just shrugged but Lydia could clearly see the shame in his eyes, the confusion. She long had her suspicion that he was not as good at his work as he would like all of them to believe. He was of help somewhat and had saved their butts from time to time, but he did not prevent the death of his pack, did not protect the rest of it. It was a great surprise for Lydia to learn that he was the Hale pack emissary, what with the way he treated Derek or with not knowing that the alpha was Peter, what Lydia believed he should have known.

She was willing to overlook that. But this, not knowing that they were practically standing in a magical hub. He let them trap and keep Stiles in that house, while maybe taking him out of it would have let the pack do at least one stupid thing less, maybe if they dragged Stiles from that house, Nemeton would not have gotten to him. Maybe they would not be standing here, knowing their friend was wasting away, at the hands of a living embodiment of evil, it only fueled her anger with the druid more.

It would not be an exaggeration even that she contemplated whether Deaton was not working together with the tree. There were too many coincidences and little things that she just couldn't ignore.

But if there was a worse moment to voice her suspicions this was it. Among the chaos of emotions, practically on enemy territory, she knew they would not be approached and handled the best way they should be. She would just have to keep an eye on the druid without him noticing, without raising his suspicions.

"Where do we go then?"

"You really are new to this; how did you manage to survive this long is a wonder. Just hold on."

And then the witch whispered something complicated, sounding like some bastardized version of Latin, the air sizzled around them but before Lydia could even ask what was happening, they were already standing somewhere else. She did not recognize that place, it looked like an abandoned mine shaft. The air was damp, and the smell was awful, she could not force her lungs to take a deep breath. Her head felt funny, like there was cotton in-between her ears. Like the pressure in this place was higher than normal. They were surrounded by cold stones.

"Where are we?"

Lydia was impressed by how threatening Derek could make a simple question sound. The witch did not look like she was threatened, though. And if she could transport the whole pack with a single spell somewhere that was probably underground and far from the place they were before, she must have been powerful enough to not see an alpha werewolf as a threat. She did however send looks down Lydia's way, of which she might not have even be conscious, and Lydia filed that away for later.

"Underground, in a place that was forcibly cut off from nature. A place with no ley lines, no residual magic. No ears listening in. It would be a bad idea to try and discuss our plans in the place that Nemeton could reach easily. In a place where Nemeton would hear them. I believe you will agree with me."

"You still could have warned us."

"Don't whine young wolf, you are not a child."

Scott pouted as if trying to prove to her that in fact he was still pretty much a child, while the rest of the wolves kept shaking their heads like you do at a pool when the water flows inside your ears. Lydia guessed that the pressure must have felt more awful to them than it did for her. She did not have their supernatural hearing, and the pressure must have dulled it too much, to the point it was confusing. And probably painful, considering she felt physical discomfort too .

"If we are safe to discuss it, then what is the plan. How do we get Stiles back? And... wait... where is Deaton?"

The wolves and Lydia looked around, but the druid was nowhere to be found.

"Unlike you, I am not going to invite a druid to plan on how to handle a tree that is sacred to his kind."

Lydia kept quiet, because she was not about to say that she agreed with a witch, this witch specifically. But she did. It was good knowing that her suspicion was shared.

"Deaton would not..."

"Would or would not, does not matter, pup. Not all wrongdoing and betrayal is done willingly. Not all backstabbing is done knowingly. Even if your druid is an honest and capable man, we are talking about the source of his power, the backbone of being a druid. He may follow the path laid down by the Nemeton, without even realizing."

Scott looked like he might argue, there was a vein pulsing on his forehead, and his shift seemed seconds away. But then he deflated. Lydia was not surprised that he was the only one to defend Deaton. He was probably the only person who actually liked the man. And definitely the only person who trusted the druid.

But even he must have realized that this was not something worth fighting for. Especially if the witch was right. It did, however, unsettle something inside her, and Lydia felt the need to ask.

"Then are you not doing Nemeton's binding?"

The pack perked up at the words, Erica started growling but Derek silenced her with a look. Everyone kept watching Lydia and the witch with curious eyes.

"You are a druid too, are you not?"

The witch seemed impressed and not at all angry or bothered by her question. She was as cold and composed outwardly at least, as Lydia was not privy to her thoughts, so she could not really know what the witch was thinking. 

"You have a keen eye and a keen sense, young girl. But your senses are not yet fully developed. They have led you to a partial truth. I used to be a druid, yes. But it was a long time ago, seems like it was another lifetime."

Something like longing, sad and wistful, shown up on her face, she seemed to be looking in the past more than concentrating on the here and now, she did not even look at them as she was speaking, staring rather somewhere far away. Lydia assumed she was more looking into a when than a where.

"I have died and been reborn, I have drawn power from a source darker than Nemeton, and I could no longer feel the connection to the earth and the ley lines like I did. I can draw power from Nemeton, I can sense it, but I am not in its thrall and never will be."

"You are a darach. A dark druid."

"Very well, my dear, you seem to possess more knowledge of the world you live in now than any of your friends."

Lydia shrugged, as she knew it was not true. She spent nights on reading through Argent's bestiary, on searching for countless books, the older and more obscure, the better. Her head was filled with knowledge and tidbits and she no longer felt like she was tossed into an unknown world. But as to being able to navigate it, Derek and Peter proved to her over and over that her intellect and willingness to learn were second to being born and raised in this world.

"Then you must know that Nemeton and I do not go hand in hand anymore."

"I am not sure if this includes a dark Nemeton."

"Oh, you are on fire today."

There was no inflection in that sentence, it sounded more like a warning. Mixed with something Lydia could not identify, no matter how hard she tried to. 

"She's not lying." 

Derek's irritated voice cut through the air, ending the standstill. Lydia knew better than to push further, Derek probably knew better, and he was already on edge, eager to get Stiles back now that he knew there was a real chance to save him. She conceded. 

"What is the plan then?"

"What do you know about Nemeton and the ley lines? I need to see how much I have to explain, as you do all seem to be the bunch that needs to know everything. Surprisingly, as I have always thought that wolves first jumped into action and then thought about what they were doing. If at all."

"Ley lines are streams of magic, and where many of them cross, a Nemeton can grow, sacred tree of the druids, home of magic and a beacon to supernatural creatures. If healthy, its magic protects the groove it grows on and the territory surrounding it. The size of the territory depends on the number of the ley lines."

"Impressive book knowledge, you almost got it right. Nemeton is not the tree. It lives inside it. Like a soul lives in a body. It arises from the ley lines and is made of pure magic. Well, not so pure in the case of this one. The entire area around the stump is the Nemeton too. When this Nemeton was healthy, its soothing power encompassed all of Beacon, as this town is a large net of ley lines. Now, the Nemeton's influence is diminished. It can still reach out through the ley lines, but its territory is much smaller, yet at the same time, that influence is more sinister."

"And how exactly does that help us?"

It was clear to Lydia that the whole pack's patience was running out, she felt that on her skin, but none of them was as done with waiting and talking as Erica. The she-wolf was pacing, like a caged animal, in the confined space they were in. Her claws and fangs were out. Lydia just hoped that Erica would have enough control not to attack the witch. They needed her for now. 

"How can you hope to destroy an enemy if you know nothing about it?"

Erica shrugged but said nothing, and Lydia felt relief; but she knew that the situation needed to be deescalated. Her pack's control over their wolves was short of legendary now. The things that happened to them made them stronger, surprisingly calmer, definitely more in control. They would growl, snarl, their claws and fangs would come out, sometimes without them knowing. But they would not attack, they would talk, calculate, think before acting. Some were more in control than others, with Scott and Erica being on the end of the spectrum, more likely to snap, but even they knew how to show restraint.

But this was all too much. The mine shaft cut off from the moon, from the outside, cramped and narrow, cold and uninviting, and the presence of the witch that made them hurt Stiles was not helping, and Lydia was afraid this control would not be enough; and all would be lost.

Luckily, it seemed that the witch must have realized that if they were dancing on thin ice before, now they were starting to jump on it. And if something had to give, Lydia knew that it would cost them dearly, but it would cost the witch more. She would make sure of it. 

"Now, this might be a sore subject for you, but I saw how your banshee's scream broke through my enchantment."

The growls were thunderous, they echoed through the shaft, eyes glowed all around, and Lydia held her breath for a moment. But again, nothing happened, and she was left in awe of how well the pack handled themselves, considering what enchantment was just discussed. 

The witch raised her hands, and Lydia was ready to protect her friends, but the gesture was not threatening.

"I know, insensitive of me to mention that, but it is important if you want your Spark back."

That settled the pack a little; but Lydia knew that the ice they were on was already showing cracks, they needed something better than mythology lesson or thinly veiled taunts and allusions. 

"To the point please," she said, her voice calmer than she felt inside, "I think we both see that time is of the essence."

Luckily, the witch must have seen that the time for witty retorts was over, if there ever was one in these circumstances.

"You are of other magic, banshee, you are of other source, not hostile but definitely foreign to the Nemeton. My magic comes from ley lines, and from such old sources like your sacred filthy little groove. Of course, the Nemeton is considerably stronger than that enchantment was."

A shadow of something crossed the witches face, a quick spasm of muscles, Lydia would miss if she didn't observe the witch so keenly. The woman's back straightened, she stood taller, her expression turning colder.

"It was a child's play compared to what Nemeton can throw at you, compared to what I can throw at you, if we are in a fight."

And there it was, it was fear, Lydia quickly understood, fear of saying too much, of revealing her own weakness to the enemy that wanted revenge. It was a fine line the witch was walking. The Nemeton was the immediate threat, using Stiles to do its binding, there was no telling how much it would be able to. How far it would reach, how many lives it would extinguish. How easy it would be for the Nemeton to drain all druids and darachs of the powers it bestowed upon them to do its binding. 

But the pack was a danger for later, a pack that defeats the Nemeton might be a foe greater than the witch anticipates. Lydia had no doubt that the woman had plans upon plans as to what to do with them when the battle is over. Other thing was, how much she believed now that the plans would work. How much she could reveal not to dig her own grave.

Lydia, surprisingly, did not hate her, she felt pity for that woman, something deep and hurtful must have happened to her, she hinted at that not really subtly, that twisted her soul. If she once was a druid, she must have been knowledgeable and pure. And so, her first thought was pity, but she did hurt Stiles, she wanted him dead at the hands of his pack, his mate. That was unforgivable. So as much as she pitied her, she would love to see her dead. She was sure that even Scott would love to see that, for a change. 

"This is where the pack comes in, Nemeton will throw things at you, animals of all shapes and sizes, any living creature it can get in the head of. You will take care of that. The Nemeton has more power now that it has a physical body, but it is also more vulnerable. You cannot kill it; it is not the goal here. You can, quite literally, scream it into submission, drive the bundle of dark magic out of your friend back into the ground."

Scream magic into submission, now Lydia heard everything. It sounded improbable, like the witch was just luring them into a trap with extra steps. But it did not feel like it to be honest. And Lydia never really knew what else a banshee power was good for, but it was energy, it was almost physical, it could distort the air in its path, like a sonic wave. Maybe magic responded the same way it. Maybe it was not without a sense. There were questions though that she needed answers to. 

"What about Stiles, would my scream not hurt him? If screaming pushes the Nemeton out of Stiles's body, where exactly will it go? Why would it suddenly become less dangerous? This all sounds so nice on paper. I want the gory details."

"It will hurt him, maybe even damage him further, it will not kill him though, and let me tell you, everything would be better that having the Nemeton burn you from inside out, until you are nothing but an empty shell. Wouldn't you agree?"

The noise the pack made was not an agreement but also not a declaration of an attack, of a disagreement, Lydia looked at Derek. He looked awful, grief-stricken, pale, and as if he were in physical pain. But he said nothing, he just watched the exchange and listen to it intently. He was listening to the witch's heartbeat, Lydia realized with a start, he was watching the woman for the smallest clues of a lie. If he kept silent, he must have not found any. She decided to trust him, fully, she did not have the energy or will to focus on what she needed to do, and to worry about being stabbed in the back, or lied to. She knew that Derek had her back, and whatever he did wrong until now, which she here and now decided never to tell him, she knew he could be fully trusted.

"I do agree, I do not intent to leave him at the mercy of Nemeton any longer, so I will take that risk. But you have not answered the rest of the questions."

"Partially, I did, dear. I did say that this will drive Nemeton back to the ground. It will go back to the stump, where it will sit and poison the land slowly and quietly as it did before. Your scream will sever his ties to the Spark and to the outside world. But this is Nemeton we are talking about. It is pure magic. Neither you, nor me, nor this marry band of growlers can defeat it."

"Will it be tied to me again?"

Derek spoke rarely but when he did, he sounded grave and his words were always on point.

"I cannot tell for sure. It has been tied almost solely to you until it possessed your spark but when you broke the bond, you freed yourself from it. I bet that felt good."

Derek's shoulders dropped, he hunched a little in himself, he did not deny it, and Lydia knew that the whole posture now spoke of guilt and shame. She wanted to comfort him, but she didn't. She did not want to undermine him in front of the enemy. And vindictively she wanted him to feel like this, at least for a moment, at least a little. 

"We could hypothesize that it will try to latch onto someone, regardless who it is, just to leave itself an open door to come back. If it will be able to. When you start screaming, it will become disoriented. It is not human, but I cannot think of another more suitable word than that."

The number of unknowns was becoming uncomfortably high. Lydia and the rest of the pack did not know what Nemeton was capable of throwing at them. They did not know whether her voice would hurt Stiles. The witch was unable to tell them how exactly pushing Nemeton out of Stiles would make the magic weak enough to no longer be as much of a threat as it was now. 

It was unknown whether Nemeton would form new bonds with one of them. And whether that person would be strong enough not to succumb to its power, putting them almost back where they started. 

And last but not least, Lydia could not yet foresee at what point would the witch strike. She had no doubts that the woman would use the situation to her advantage and attempt to either kill them or take control of them. She has already proved that she could do that easily. And despite how easy it was for Lydia to break the enchantment; she would be already locked in a fight with a more dangerous enemy. The woman did not even reveal her role in the plan yet, and Lydia suspected that whatever she tells them it wouldn’t be the truth or just partially truth, enough to pass the scrutiny of a werewolf. 

This was shaping to be the greatest challenge the pack ever faced. And yet, Lydia knew that they had no choice. 

"Fine, let's discuss the details. And then let's take the fight to Nemeton. It is time to get Stiles back."

The wolves appeared to share her sentiment as they howled, a long and desperate sound, reverberating in the narrow halls, that to Lydia's ears sounded both like a cry of pain and a battle-song. She looked at Derek, at his determined, shifted face, and she knew they were ready. She felt the adrenaline burning in her veins. She wanted to join the howl. 

They were getting Stiles back.


	26. In the heart of darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: description of violence against animals

It was all too much. There was just too much on his shoulders, when the witch appeared for a moment Derek believed that this was it, death was coming, and for a smallest of seconds, he thought about embracing it. He shook that thought out of his head immediately, right after it appeared, too scary to hold on to it. He was wrong, though, the witch did not want to fight, she had the nerve to come here, to stand at the doorstep of his mate's house and offer them a truce.

Broken bonds or not, Stiles still was and would forever be Derek's mate, and this woman caused all this. He should have ripped her throat out, but he couldn't. He did not have the will or strength to fight, and he could not endanger his pack. If she was not here to kill, he would not provoke her into changing her mind. He would not be able to live with even a little more guilt upon his shoulders.

Then she showed him Stiles, and that broke his soul to pieces. There he was, thin, weak, in Nemeton's dark clutches, barely even alive, and Derek was the one who sent him there, who left him at the mercy of Nemeton. He was the one who allowed Stiles to be taken. And he will never forget that, never forgive himself. No matter what Deaton said. Even if Stiles forgave him in the future, Derek could not see how they could move on from this.

Lydia's arrival, like something out of a book, all crazy-eyed, determined and still dressed in a hospital gown, initiated a stampede of things that just carried them away. First the spell, that took them to a damp and narrow shaft, where Derek senses went almost crazy. The residual smell of magic, the cold and unforgiving stone around them, the lost connection to nature, which for wolves was not essential but still important, all that made his wolf pace around, throw itself at the cage he kept it in.

He missed most of the back-and-forth between Lydia and the witch, he was more focused on the woman, on trying to read her. There was something deeply wrong about her, like he saw her in double vision. One image was in front of his very eyes, and another was hidden deep, masked from all of them, and that one was vile and hurt, resembling closely someone not dead but not alive either. Her words of being reborn made sense and sounded truth to his ears. He knew he could not trust his senses, not fully, but he was focused on any little signs of deception. 

Deaton not being there with them, and the witch's words about how he could have been doing Nemeton's biding were like a punch to the chest. He trusted that man to know what to do, he trusted that man when it came to Stiles. So, Derek pushed that away, to that space in his mind where he kept storing things to revisit later. Where they festered and multiplied, and weighted him down, becoming scarier and scarier until he could not force himself to revisit them as planned. Lately that place was becoming swamped and Derek knew that once they'll be able to catch a breath, that will be the moment things get truly ugly for him.

But in all the doom and gloom, there was finally some hope. There was even a plan that did not sound like a bunch of nonsense thrown in together and tied with an "it has to work" ribbon, and Derek's lungs expanded for the first time in a long time, allowing him to take a full breath. The air was awful, the smell was almost unbearable but to Derek, that breath was everything. It meant that he was going to get Stiles back and make everything alright again. He would grovel at Stiles's feet gladly if it meant going back to what they were before all this happened. And now it seemed he would have a chance to do that.

He was ready to fight anything and anyone that Nemeton would put in his way, everyone but Stiles, and he was glad to hear that he did not have to. He trusted Lydia; he would put his mate's life in her hands anytime. She would get him back, she loved him too much not to. Derek saw how determined she were, and he couldn't hold back the howl at the thought of her ripping Stiles away from the enemy back into the arms of his pack, back into Derek's arms.

He howled, and the pack howled with him, the sound filling the small space they were in and drifting further down the shaft. It carried various emotions, sadness, pain, elation, anger, it was a call for a fight. It united them in that moment, enveloping them in the sense of being one, one mind, one body, one spirit with only one goal. 

The witch looked at them with cold, annoyed eyes once they were done, but Derek did not care. If she could not understand this unity, this strength that this one howl gave them, the strength to do what needed to be done, the knowledge that they were there for each other, that they were not alone, then, well, that was not his problem. He was not going to moderate their behavior for her benefit.

The plan was a little too simple for his liking. Despite all the hope and energy filling slowly his numb body, he could not help but think that there were too little details. That there were still too many unknowns in the whole process. He did not like it. If anything would go wrong, and something always did in their experience, there was no backup plan to fall back on, no plan B or even C that Stiles always insisted they have. Lydia and the witch discussed the details, but they were superficial still, there were bones of a plan with no meat on them. They were quietly dividing the pack into smaller groups, Lydia was smart enough not to get pulled into discussing the packs strengths and weaknesses, but now Derek became less and less interested in that conversation. He had to plan for the worst himself. He did not trust the witch, and maybe, maybe it was a good thing that Lydia did not bring up any backup plans with that woman. And he wondered if he could come up with something that would work, if he could not discuss it with the pack. 

Someone grabbed his arm, it startled him into turning around, Peter was standing next to him with a smirk on his face. Smug bastard, probably just looking for a chance to say something witty. 

"I can practically hear you thinking. And I know this is your worried face, so leave them to it and come on."

"Come on where?"

He let himself be pulled further down the shaft. The further they got from the witch, the darker it got, and Derek realized that she must have been using magic to light up the place they were in. He did not hear or see her cast a spell; he did not sense magic in the air like he did with Stiles's. She must really be powerful, and she definitely differed from his beloved Spark and from Deaton. That worried him even more that they would not see her coming, once she decides it's time to attack. 

His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness of the shaft, Peter tried to add some light with his cellphone, but it was a fruitless endeavor which Derek was not planning on joining although he did have a flashlight app on his phone. It was more in tune with how he felt, to stand here, covered in the shadow, away from the toxic source of light, to conspire against the enemies, one of which he was forced to work with. It all added another layer of drama over their already dark situation and Derek's flair for dramatics ate it all up. 

"All right, are we far away for your liking? Plan on starting to talk?"

"I plan on starting to plan, and I know you want that too, nephew, do not try and pretend otherwise. I felt that shifty energy around you, suffocating it's what it was."

"Great. Now you read auras too?"

But there was no denying it, he was not going to even try pretending. And it did not come to him as a surprise that Peter picked up on it. His uncle was a little more attuned to the pack now. And he was always good at reading Derek's mind. Mostly for his own benefit, but still. 

"There is no backup plan in all of this. Are we just to assume that this will all work? And that's just the case with Nemeton. We need some contingency plan for you-know-who," he did not suspect that the witch had a werewolf's hearing, but he feared she might have had another way of listening in. He did feel a little bolder and safer now that her light was not touching him. But he could not lower his guard down, not with so much at stake. 

"Ah yes, 'this is going to work' sounds like good potential last words, tombstone-worthy even. And I am sure that you do not wish for the pack to utter their last words any time soon."

"You would be right to thinks so. It's not very alpha to want something like that, but what would I know."

Sarcasm was hard to keep out of his tone, not after being so close with Stiles for so long, the person who used sarcasm as a sword and shield, and really almost as a way to live. 

"Then do not say a word more, stop looking like the world is ending, and go with the plan. For the rest, I will only ask you for this once, only now, and no matter how much you want to say no to my face, consider agreeing."

"What are you rambling about, Peter?"

That was unlike his carefully composed uncle, Peter did not ramble or waste words even when he was out of it with insanity and thirst for revenge. Even teenage Peter was cold and calculated, he recalled it now that the sentimental veil was lifted of his memories of Peter - the friend. 

"I want you to trust me."

"What...?"

"Just trust me Derek, no questions, no hesitation, focus on the task you are given, think about the role you and your rugrats are to play in the grand scheme of things, don't think of anything else, don't try to divide your attention into million different things. This is too important. Can you do that?"

Could he? Derek was not sure if he even knew the answer to that question, if he could tell what he was going to do once they face Nemeton wearing Stiles's face. Could he just let go of worrying, could he trust Peter, or anyone to have their back? Peter sounded sincere, and for the first time, Derek was willing to let go of control, to just put the what-ifs and the plan B's in his uncle's hands. But it was not a question of what he wanted; it was a question of what he would be able to do. And the way Peter looked at him told him he knew. So, Derek decided to just be honest.

"I don't know."

Peter nodded, something akin to sadness crossed his face. 

"I understand, and I know where you are coming from. And there is nothing that I can truly say to elevate your doubts. I cannot convince you. I know that, you know that. But I hope that when the time comes, when we face what lies before us, you will remember my words, and you will find it in you to trust me."

That was the longest Peter spoke to him in a while. Yes, Derek himself was not a conversationalist and many said that he hardly ever spoke, he would not deny that, but Peter was cut out of the same block. He smirked and smiled menacingly and threw witty sarcastic one-liners from the side lines. And hearing him speak now, elaborate sentences full of truth, Derek felt that truth resonate deep down in him in the place he kept all the feelings connected to his family and his past, it made him want to just say yes, that he will trust Peter. The stakes were high, and he was scared, very scared but there was little choice. He could jump and hope there was a net there to catch him, or he could wither to nothing standing on the edge of the abyss. And jumping, as scary as it was, was better than doing nothing.

"I don't fully know if I will trust you, but I will try my hardest, for old times' sake."

There was no hugging, no hand shaking, no feeling of profound revelations or change. His uncle did not stop being the Peter that killed Laura, and Derek did not stop being his cynical self, carrying more guilt than humanely possible. But for a moment, they were a family again, united under the same cause, and that was enough.

They could not stand there anymore, their absence was already suspicious, and whatever Peter was planning, and Derek had no doubt that Peter's mind is capable of creating multiple scenarios, each more devious than the previous one, he did not want to draw too much of the witches attention to it. He hunched his shoulders and tried to appear as broken down as possible. He had that down to an art, all thanks to the shitty cards he has been dealt all his life. He did not have to work too hard to look like he was barely holding on under all the burden on his shoulders. Peter seemed to be reading clues of him, and suddenly his whole larger than life posture changed too. He looked older, more beaten, more vulnerable. It was the perfect look, he no longer resembled a predator, and there was a moment when even Derek forgot that his uncle was most definitely one. Peter deserved an award for that performance alone.

Lydia did not spare them a glance, his pack had questions in their eyes but knew better than to ask them. The witch looked at them but there was no suspicion on her face. She just spared them a look, and she must have seen what they were trying to show her, that they were no threat, for her gaze did not linger. It slipped just as soon as it landed on them.

"I am glad everyone is here already. There is no time to waste. If Nemeton breaks your spark's spirit it will grow in strength, and soon it might be unstoppable. We would not want that, wouldn't we."

No one answered, no one had to, it was pretty clear that everyone agreed. There was no need for words.

"While you two were gone moping in the darkness, we have finished planning for the attack. A little recap for those with better things to do, we need to get to Nemeton. I know where it is, and I escaped it with a spell before I appeared before you. But I will not be able to teleport us there."

"Why not?" 

Was she trying to play them so early on? Derek frowned. 

"Because the darkness around it grew from that time, and I will not be able to pierce through it with so many of you in tow."

"What a convenient excuse," Peter did not hide his disdain, "what difference does it make how many of us are with you? You have already shown that it is not a problem for you to transport us all without a sweat on your pretty face."

The witch looked at him sharply. 

"Are you taking this seriously even? As your words make me doubt that. This is not just taking a pack of you somewhere else, that would be trying also to break through a barrier of dark protective magic. One mistake and we would be obliterated before the fight started. Think of it as of me trying to forcefully squeeze you through a mountain ash barrier. Something would have to give, and I do believe it would not be the barrier."

Derek shuddered at the images these words put in his head.

"What is the plan then?"

"Now he wants to know."

"Yes, now I want to know."

Derek was aware that their albeit short departure would be noticed, but now it started to look like the witch took it as a personal slight. He hoped he hadn't ruined anything or put her on her highest alert. But they probably did make her worry, she was not stupid, and it was not hard to see that they probably schemed against her. He really hoped that Peter had a good plan, that it was worth the risk to follow him into the darkness. He wanted his Stiles back, and to jeopardize that was the last thing he meant to do.

Everything was a confusing mess, and right now Derek felt like he was standing in the middle of a minefield. The greatest prize imaginable awaited him at the end of the path he was on, but one wrong move and all would be lost. It was making him even more anxious; wolves could be smart and cunning, but this was a level of pressure and intrigue that felt like too much to take. He was a predator not a creature of the shadows. He could rip the throat out of his enemy but felt lost when he had to plot and evade and tiptoe around it.

"I will take us as close as I can. We will have to break through to Nemeton's core, and I really mean break through. I know where it hides, I know its signature, how it feels, it won't be able to hide from me, but it will try. I will share the awareness of it with you through a spell. But it will leave you open to other things."

He really should have stayed around and listen. He did not like the sound of any of that at all, and one look at Lydia's and the pack's grave faces told him that this was a truly dire situation.

"What other things?"

"The Nemeton will sense you as a threat, it will know that you can see it, that you can find it. You will once again feel its aura as you did when it was connected to you. But this time, it will be even worse."

"How can that be possible?"

"Well, firstly, my dear, for a moment you were free, and you did not deny that it felt good to be without its presence. And what is more, it is now stronger and more vicious, and it is angry with all of you. It will be open to you, so that you can find it, but you will be open to it as well."

"Is that how it can possess one of us?" 

Lydia blessedly had the clarity of mind to ask important questions on his behalf, as Derek was now too deep in his thoughts. He did feel guiltily good without that poison in his veins, without that shadow over his head. And the witch was right. He angered the Nemeton greatly when he cut Stiles of. This was going to be one awful experience. He knew that already but now it was sinking in. Like a stone in his guts. 

"It will make you more susceptible to it, but once you scream, once you create chaos and pain at the core of it, it will not have the strength to possess any of you like it did Stiles. Especially that your bonds are strong, healthy, and his wasn't."

His hand curled into a fist just to feel some pain from the claws that popped out. Just enough to ground himself in this moment. The witch was so casual about it. And it was no wonder, she definitely felt no sympathy towards them, it was all about what she wanted, a means to an end. But that was a tragedy to them, a deep, profound moment that has shaken up the home, the family they built on this toxic land and on the ashes of the past. And she spoke of it like it was the weather.

"The Nemeton will summon animals that it has at it command, like your banshee here had a chance to experience."

He saw Lydia shudder and he wanted to reach out to her, but his claws were still digging into the flesh of his hands and he was bleeding. So, he did not, and he did not have to, as Erica stepped up, surprisingly. The bond between those two was always strained, filled with jealousy and pettiness, but if anything good could come out of this terrible situation they were in, it was that the banshee and the she-wolf seemed to finally get along. 

"I don't know how many it will be, how viciously they will fight, but you will have to help your banshee get to the center, to the Nemeton itself and to your spark. You, my dear, will have to get really close for this to work, I'm afraid."

"I am sure I'll manage. I still have not heard what you will be doing."

All eyes were on the witch, Derek too focused on her again, finally getting back the control of himself.

"I will take you to Nemeton and support you as much as I can, but your banshee was half right, as much as the Nemeton cannot control me, my magic is too similar to hurt it as I did explain already. So, think of me more as of someone who can get you in there and take you out of there if things go wrong."

There was doubt at the end of his tongue, but Erica beat him to it again. She snorted and when she spoke her voice was full of disbelief. 

"We are to believe you that you would not just leave us there? Yeah, right."

The witch just casually shrugged like she wanted to dismiss that, but she must have become aware that Erica is just putting into words what the whole pack was thinking.

"As much as you don't have a reason to believe me or my words, I do not plan on letting you die if we lose one battle. It's not sympathy or decency, don't get me wrong, it's just tactics. You cannot help me win if you are dead. We can come up with another plan and try again but only if you live."

Derek could not tell if she was honest or not. It made sense, it really did, you cannot win a war if you let your army fall in the first battle. But he was not convinced, not fully. If they turned out to be too weak, would they really be of any further use to that woman who seemed to care only about power. And then there was the question of payment and motivation.

The pack needed to do this to get Stiles back, they did not want anything else but his safe return into their waiting arms. The witch had no ties to Stiles, to the pack or the town, so it was clear she was doing it for something else. And Derek had a justified strong conviction that it was the Nemeton itself, the power now residing in his mate's body that she was after. He was not ready to give it to her, to let her absorb that power and that darkness and become another shadow over Beacon Hills, but he was not sure if he could do anything to stop her. And what if that was not all, it was already bad but real problems would start if her ambitions were much bigger and much more sinister.

It seemed to bring her satisfaction, to have them at her beck-and-call, she used them like pawns in her big game. He understood it somewhat, with his alpha instinct sometimes overshadowing everything else. It felt good when the pack listened, when they followed his commands, it made his blood run hot, like when he was able to snap Isaac out of his shift at the station. When he trained them, and they looked at him with a mixture of deference and fear, it felt good, he felt powerful, and it was Stiles that had to smack him on the head and show him a better way. So, in a way, he understood what the witch was feeling, practically having at her disposal a pack of wolves, a half-Kanima, a hunter, and a banshee. 

But he never demanded of the pack more than they were willing to give. He listened to them in turn, and he cherished the bond outside of pack matters. They were a family and he would not abuse the power he had over them. The witch on the other hand had no such qualms or ties to them, and Derek was sure that if she enjoyed this power over them too much, then she would not want to let go of it. Was he strong enough to stop her, was Peter's plan enough not to let her do that? Derek did not have the answers to those questions, and he did not like it. 

He knew that it was the thought of Stiles that clouded his judgment. And not only his. He looked at the determined, impatient faces of his pack. They were ready to do this, to throw their lives on the line for his mate. It made his heart swell, and his wolf howl, he chose well, he fell in love this time with a person inspiring such loyalty, he had him, and he lost him, no, he gave him away. And that thought made his wolf furious. Good. That was the emotion he would need. 

"All right. Take us there."

He waited for objections, mostly from Lydia, as he was almost sure she had more questions, but none came. They were all ready, they were all willing to go there now, the rest me damned.

"Brace yourselves. Not for the obstacles, no, I am sure those you will be able to overcome. Brace yourself for what lies behind them. The evil will be wearing the face of the one you all love so much. Don't falter."

"Don't worry about that. Do your thing, take us to Nemeton."

The air sizzled around them, the witch murmured something - Derek asked himself if maybe the stronger spells had to be uttered and if that was true, would that be able to help the somehow, and the next moment they were standing in a forest clearing.

Again, his head felt like someone held it underwater, and he had to shake it off. He could safely say that he would not become a fan of this method of travelling. Once he shook off the effect of the spell, he noticed how dark the clearing was, the witch was surrounded in a ring of light that she extended to them with a snap of her fingers, but around them it was an almost impenetrable darkness. And it felt menacing, like something sinister was hiding at every corner, in every nook and crevice. That was when he felt it, the Nemeton, the beating heart of this darkness. It did feel worse, especially now that he knew how it felt to be free of this sinister presence. It was all he could feel now, he hoped to be able to feel Stiles, despite the lack of the bond, he was always able to single him out in a crowd, his heartbeat a precious sound that he was always able to recognize. 

But there was no Stiles in all of this, only Nemeton and its corrupted energy that suffocated him. It was a near physical pain, being here, being touched by that corruption but he was not turning back. There was movement that he more heard and felt than he was able to see, and he shifted, his muscles tensing in an anticipation of a fight. His pack shifted too, growls of fury reached his ears and he drew comfort from it. He was not alone here; he had his pack. They were going to stop the Nemeton.

Multiple sounds all around him made him feel too small for his skin. He howled and his bones moved in rhythm of that howl. Something was coming, something big, something angry, and more of it than one, and he was ready. His body twisted with the anger that coursed in his veins, fur grew on his skin, he felt himself getting both smaller and bigger, he had too many teeth, his vision was shaking, the ground was nearer than it should be, and when he howled again, he did no longer sound like anything close to a human. He sounded like a wolf, and he realized he was a wolf. The full shift his mother was famous for was taking over him, and for a moment he let himself feel the joy, feel the unity with his mother and Laura. The moment was short-lived, as just as his shift was complete, a large deer jumped into the light, charging at Derek. 

Its fur was completely black, and its eyes were fiery red, mad in a way that felt almost human, almost conscious. Derek felt sorry for the animal, but it did not stop him from throwing himself at it, aiming at its throat. His attack missed its mark, the large head and sharp antlers stopped him mid-jump and almost threw him at the tree line if it weren't for Derek's nimble jump. He landed on the left side of the animal, and in split second decided that the throat was too protected, he went for the animal's soft belly. The deer was strong but slow, it's movements more sluggish than of a normal animal, and it was probably due to the influence of Nemeton that suppressed the deer's prey reactions to force it to fight a predator, a wolf. 

The animal fell as he jumped on it, but it was not giving up on life yet, it kicked its legs, narrowly missing Derek, as he sank his teeth in its underbelly. Warm blood filled his mouth, almost making him gag, but he held on. With a corner of his eye, he saw another deer coming at him, only to be intercepted by Erica. She struggled with it, her weight not enough to knock the deer down, her strength only barely equal with it, she managed to slow it down, but it was not stopping. Then Boyd charged at it, and together his betas fell the deer, making short work of ripping out its throat.

The deer he was holding finally stopped struggling, and Derek relaxed his jaws, clenched to the point of pain. They were surrounded, he heard multiple heartbeats all around, but he wasn't able to distinguish what animals were out there. They weren't charging, and Derek had to hope that they were not capable of coming up with plans, that Nemeton's power made them go against their instincts but that it did not make them smarter.

They needed to move anyway, he could feel the tendrils of Nemeton, like Ariadne's thread leading them, but not out to safety, no, it was leading them to the heart of, and they had no choice but to follow. 

The taste of blood in his mouth was so intense that Derek wished he had water to rinse it with, but he knew that before the day was done, he would have more of it coating his teeth and fur. They moved slowly, consciously, waiting for the animals hiding in the dark to attack but they didn't. They stuck together in the circle of light, created by the witch, knowing that it is only there for them not to trip, that it only made them feel good and was no actual barrier for the darkness. But it did feel good to be surrounded by it, it made him calmer, and it worked on the pack too, he heard them breathing easier, he felt through the bond that they were not as stressed. He saw how they tried to stay in the light no matter what. 

The animals still did not attack, and they were making good progress. Derek did not like it. It felt like being led into a trap, and it never felt good to knowingly walk into one. But there was no turning back. The air was getting nastier, and Derek felt like it had become an almost physical presence, a physical obstacle. They trudged further until they came upon a small clearing, and there his fears came true. Everything that has been tracking them until now, descended upon them at the same time.

Deer, mountain lions, various creatures, there was a dozen of them, and Derek for a moment allowed himself to feel worried, but then the pack threw itself into the fray and it was clear that the Nemeton was not making these animals any smarter or stronger. They were not fueled by desperation to survive, they were cannon fodder, just like his pack was for the witch. But his pack was smart, they knew how to fight, dodging claws and fangs, pushing their enemies to the ground, going straight for the lethal blows. Scott covered Allison while she was sending arrow after arrow at a deer held by the antlers by Isaac. Jackson protected their most vital member, Lydia, by ripping out the throat of one mountain lion. But Lydia was no damsel in distress, she did not need protecting, and when the second lion jumped, she just screamed and pushed him away with a lot of force. It hit the tree with a crack, whimpered for a moment, a terrible sound that made Derek feel sorry for it, and then gone silent.

Boyd and Erica were an unstoppable team, they fought as if they were dancing in perfect sync. The animals could not get to one without being intercepted by the other. They were swift and strong. And Derek used his massive body and sharp teeth to protect all of them from what he could. He did not see Peter anywhere, and the witch was only casting basic spells, her face was pale, sweaty, and concentrated. He remembered her words about how similar her magic and Nemeton's power were, and it seemed that it was affecting her. 

They fell one animal after another, but they did not stop coming, the ground was red and slippery under their feet, the bodies of the animals slowly building up, and Derek felt his muscles weaken, his breath was coming short and his fur was wet with sweat and blood. His pack was still standing tall and moving forward, but they must have felt the exhaustion slipping in too. They were moving slower; Boyd massaged his hands and Derek could only imagine how much his pack was starting to hurt. They needed to get moving faster, they had to get to Stiles, it would be all worth it if they could only get to Stiles. 

He howled, menacingly, throwing a challenge to the wind, his pack joined in, supporting their alpha, adding to the threat. He hoped it would draw Nemeton out. They were on its land, killing its little puppets and winning, coming for it. And this challenge Derek threw at it was like the final insult, he was not afraid to face it. He was not afraid to fight it. He just wanted it to be over. In his haste, he forgot to be careful what you wished for, for you might get it. 

The darkness surged forward and dimmed the surrounding light, Derek felt like air was sucked out of his lungs, his inner wolf almost whined at the oppression and the horrible feeling that overcame him. The grass under his paws blackened and he heard an awful sound, it was a sound of something almost inhuman moving forward, it was the sound of a bone grinding against a bone, of joints protesting the movement, constantly cracking, it felt more like a metal golem moving towards them, but as it stepped to the edge of the light, he saw it was human, and it was Stiles.

He looked like a skeleton wrapped in a too small skin. His eyes were black, empty, his face lax, not showing any emotions, his lower jaw was hanging loose exposing his teeth and his loosely hanging tongue, his fingers resembled now more talons of a bird ready to strike. He was not pale; he was white like a sheet and black veins covered nearly all of him. 

Derek felt like screaming but it was Lydia who beat him too it. Nimble on her feet, she jumped in front of the Nemeton and she screamed and screamed, a high sound drilling into Derek's skull to the point where he felt like his head would explode. 

For a moment, the darkness receded, shrinking into itself, the air got thinner, and Derek took a deep breath. For a moment, they were winning once more. 

And then the Nemeton screamed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more to go. And it might be the longest yet, so please have patience with me, it might take me just as long to publish it, but it is coming this month, I think.


	27. keep an eye on the light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the fic together with the title of this chapter is a part of the quote by Jan Berry  
> There is graphic violence in this chapter.

He was floating, and there was no more pain, no more hurt, he liked it. This soft, dark place caressed him, made him feel safe. He wanted to stay in there, never to experience what he was forced to go through in however long it was. That he did not know. The concept of time no longer existed here. A moment might have passed or an eternity. He did not care. This was a wonderful place. He forgot his name, forgot what got him here, how long he was here. He only remembered intense pain and betrayal, and hurt, but it was like an aftertaste. Someone hurt him out there. It was not safe out there. This was the good place and he wanted to stay here forever.

It was so sudden when the space around him shrunk and started vibrating, rays of light breaking through the comforting darkness, it hurt him, making him curl into himself, away from it. His mind was assaulted with sound, like a piercing scream that destroyed the silence he came to crave. He did not want this, he just wanted to stay where there was no pain, but the scream seemed to be able to find him everywhere. 

Someone was screaming, he recognized that voice, but he did not want to hear it. The pressure was building, and he screamed too, it was more of a howl filed with anger and pain. He just wanted the voice to shut up and disappear. He just wanted to be left alone. He kept screaming and the voice came out of him in an almost physical wave. He wanted to cause hurt as he was hurt. But mostly he just wanted to push that person away.

The darkness was receding, living him vulnerable to the voice, the comforting cocoon that surrounded him was vibrating, pulsing in and out, and he realized that he was standing. There was grass under his bare feet, something was digging into the heel, and legs he stood on did not feel like his, like he fell asleep on them and they were just now waking up slowly. He could feel them folding but could not stop it and his knees hit the ground. 

For a long time, he felt like he was just made out of a suppressed consciousness, he forgot that he had a body, a corporal form, and it hurt to be reminded of it. He was still screaming, the waves coming out of him, forcing everyone around him to their knees, but it was no longer effortless. His throat hurt, like someone was scrubbing on it with sandpaper. His eyes felt like someone was peeling tape of them, he could not focus, he just saw shadows at first, and it was his nose that awoke fully first and he was assaulted with foul smell of blood, a lot of it, and something a lot like decay. His brain was catching up that it was his smell, one of an unwashed body, and he felt that his skin was burning. He needed water; all he could think about now was water. He was so thirsty, he couldn't scream no more, he could not kneel anymore. He let himself fall down, and the darkness tried to embrace him again. He would have reached out to it, but he couldn't, his arms would not work, and that woman, Lydia, his mind supplied him with that name, kept screaming, and the darkness couldn't get to him. It was leaving, and Stiles, his name was Stiles, just wanted to cry from the loss of it.

There were words, he wanted to add words to that scream, he nearly did not remember how to form them.

"Stop," he screamed. "Don't!" he pleaded.

But Lydia did not listen, and she kept screaming, peeling away layer after layer of the protection that surrounded him. He realized how hungry he was, how thirsty, how his bones and body hurt. He was so weak, so tired, and Lydia just wouldn't shut up.

His eyes were slowly regaining sight and that was not pleasant, they were used to the darkness, they craved it. But once it started slipping away, he was unable to stop it, he could not make it stay. Then he saw them, monsters, creatures half-human, half-animal. One part of him screamed of danger, setting off all kinds of warning bells in his head. The other part was screaming werewolves and pack. His eyes locked with the red ones of a big wolf and something jolted in him. The darkness made one more feeble attempt to wrap him in it but Lydia got into his face and screamed once more and that was it.

Everything came crashing back at once, the witch's attack, his pack tearing into him, the hospital, the voice begging him to be let in, he remember how he yielded, how he hurt his father, he remembered being trapped, having his mating bond broken by Derek, being taken to the Nemeton.

He remembered surrendering to it. And now he was looking at his pack, at his former mate and he was free. For the first time in days he was free. And he hated it. His body felt like it was made of cracked glass, his lungs burned, his heart hurt. His pack was watching him with anticipation, with love, Derek was whining, and looking how he was ready to jump to his side.

Stiles took a step forward. It felt like walking up a mountain, his muscles burned, and grass tickled his feet. He reached his hand out, he needed to touch his mate, he needed to be close to Derek. He did not mean to hurt Stiles, he felt it now, and he need to be close to him, to see if he could understand, if he could forgive. 

Then he saw her. She was standing to the side, but it was clear that she was here with the pack. She looked different, younger, but he would recognize her everywhere. She did this too him, it was her fault that he was now almost dead on his feet, and the pack brought her here. They let her live and they brought her here. Reason and logic and all feeling but anger escaped him once more. The darkness was gone but it left a void inside him, that void that needed to be filled with something. And he filled it with rage. He could feel his Spark come to life, and he focused on that feeling of anger and betrayal that burned inside his guts. This time when he screamed, the rough, misused voice was fully his, but the pack cowered as if it was still the Nemeton screaming. The force of it making them kneel before him and whine. 

He poured what was left of his soul into that scream; he used it as a weapon to hurt them, and a part of him rejoiced when he saw their features twisted with pain. When he saw them looking at him with something he never expected to see directed at him, fear. 

He felt powerful, strong in a way he never was. And he would pay them back for the things they did to him, for how they abandoned him, for how they conspired with his greatest enemy.

The pack was brought to their knees. But the witch stood strong, her eyes glowed and he could see black tendrils wrapping around her.

She was siphoning power from the Nemeton, Lydia's scream must have really weakened it if she was able to do that. She was getting more powerful with every second, and the anger inside Stiles was slowly ebbing away, leaving room for his growing fear. 

"Stiles, please." 

Lydia was there at his feet, her head clutched in her hands, face sweaty, makeup running down leaving dark traces on her cheeks, and he froze, no sound came through his mouth as he was watching her. She reached out to him, she saved him then and she was saving him now; and he was hurting her. This would not do. He let go of some of the things that were bottled inside, and when his eyes met Derek's once more, he saw it all. Hope, pain, regret, longing, love, fear. 

The void in him became smaller, filled in equal measure with fear and a strange sensation, like warmth, like something reawakening in him. 

"Derek."

It was barely audible; he was slowly losing his voice but it was enough. That one word galvanized him into action and made the wolf before him howl. And that howl was everything. 

* * *

It was working, Derek could not believe as it was unfolding before his eyes. When Nemeton started screaming, for a dark moment, he thought that it was over, that the plan failed. But then the darkness started receding and leaving behind more and more of Stiles.

His heart nearly stopped as those beautiful brown eyes looked into his. He saw how exhausted Stiles was, how weak, emaciated. But there was not a more beautiful sight to him than Stiles freed from the claws of the darkness, taking a single step towards him. His wolf was on the surface, so it was hard to force him to submit, to not jump on Stiles and scent him. His mate's bones looked too fragile for that, too delicate. He knew he couldn’t, but he wanted to do that so much, to just touch him, to just reassure himself that Stiles was there, that he was alive, free, and safe.

He should have known that their shitty luck would not allow it to be this simple. That they were not meant to just win, to have good things come to them. And he should have been smarter, he should have known how it would look, how impossible it would be to explain why he was here with her. With the woman that hurt Stiles so much the last time he saw her.

He saw and felt the moment the betrayal and the hurt seeped into Stiles's expression. How it twisted his whole face. He could smell the ozone in the air, the magic, both so familiar and somehow new, foreign, Stiles spark mixed with something different that wasn’t there before, something vile. It did not feel quite like the Nemeton, but it was close. It was a realization that he did not want to make but he knew it was true, the Nemeton would forever remain a part of Stiles, it has left its mark on his mate, and the only question was, how big of a mark it would be.

When Stiles started screaming, it was like they woke from one nightmare only to land in a worse one. It was Derek's love, friend and brother to his pack, one of the most important people in their lives, that was hurting them now, there was no Nemeton, no dark force pulling his strings. He was angry and it was palpable in the air around them. Derek could not hold in the whine building up in him. He heard Lydia beg, forced to her knees like the rest of the pack. 

And miraculously Stiles listened, the heartbroken horrified look on his face pulled at Derek's heartstrings. He was ready to run and grovel at Stiles's feet, but then his mate looked at him, and there were, for the first time, emotions in his eyes. 

"Derek."

Hearing his name from those lips, seeing the recognition, it was too much, his wolf could no longer be contained, and Derek did not want to contain it anymore. He howled putting everything he felt in it, the hope, the love, the unbridled joy. His moment of happiness was cut short as a wave of magic knocked him to the ground. He raised his head and saw the witch, her face calm, with no emotions displayed on it. She was looking at him like a researcher looks at a sample, and she held him pinned down with her powers. 

His pack tried to intervene, but they were knocked down before they could come near her. Derek heard Lydia cry out, and saw her laying on the ground, twitching with pain. Stiles looked upon all it with wide, frightened eyes, and Derek wanted to go to him, to comfort him, to protect him, but he could not move. He felt like crying, he knew that they could not trust the witch and he didn't. But he forgot to keep an eye on her when faced with Stiles. He should have paid more attention to what she was doing. Peter was nowhere in sight, and Derek felt like an idiot for trusting his uncle. Peter might have changed but his core was rotten, and that was not something that anyone could do anything about. He was an incorrigible schemer, coward, and opportunist. As they got here, he probably just run the other way, and left them here. Curse him, and curse Derek for wanting to trust him this one time. 

The witch stepped towards them, her eyes black, her hands shining with the spells she used to keep them down. 

"I will make you a deal, alpha. Pledge yourself to me, your new mistress, except my mark, and I will let you live. I will let your pack live. Otherwise, you will all die here and now. And I will start with your spark."

Derek's head turned to Stiles almost involuntarily, his mate was shaking, his thin frame seized with fear. Derek howled and tried to lunge at the witch, only to be thrown at the ground once more.

"Stupid mutt. I thought you were smart enough to know when the fight is over. Your fangs and claws are no match for me. Well, I guess, I have no reason to keep you around."

She turned to Stiles, and Derek whined, pitifully, like a kicked dog, and lowered his head in a clear gesture of submission. 

The witch looked at him and laugh, her laugh a shrill, piercing sound.

"That's all it took to break you? I don't know if I will have any use for such a weak alpha."

"You won't."

Both Derek and the witch turned as they heard Peter. He walked slowly with his hands raised in the air, but his face did not show any signs of submission or fear. No, he was smirking. 

"If you want the pack to obey, if you want someone to work with, let me take his alpha spark. You and I, we are the same. I have died and were resurrected, I have been burned and abandoned, I am the rightful alpha of this pack that was stolen his rightful place. That is what you have felt, do not lie."

The witch watched him carefully, and Derek held his breath. If this was the great idea that Peter had, it was weak. There is no way she would believe him, with their departure from the group in the mine fresh in her mind. She would not be that stupid, but his uncle’s words rung true, most of it was true after all, and all of it was filled with bitter jealousy. And Derek hoped she would buy it. That whatever Peter's plan was would work. He just wanted this all to be over, he just wanted to take Stiles away from here. 

"And I am to believe you would be loyal to me? If you cannot be loyal to your own pack, your family? And why would I believe you, if I have almost a certainty that you have conspired against me?"

Peter did not stop, and she made no move to stop him. He kept coming nearer and nearer to Derek, and the alpha waited for Peter to do something. 

"Loyal is too strong of a word my dear, but you would have a grateful alpha in your corner. One that is not averse to spilling blood, taking lives, doing what needs to be done, and as for conspiring, I admit, I have asked my nephew for his trust. But only because I knew that it would be easier to do this now."

Before Derek could question what Peter was doing, what he was saying, his uncle's claws sunk into his neck and he felt a pull. Peter was pulling at his alpha spark, entangled with his life force. He could not move; his legs could not support his weight. The witch was watching them with curious eyes, and a smug smirk on her face to match Peter's. It was getting darker, his heart was slowing down, but before darkness consumed him, he saw Peter's crimson eyes, and then heard a blood-curling scream that shook the very ground he fell on.

* * *

He was so afraid, with her eyes on him, and her threats and with his spark out of reach and helpless against her. He just wanted to curl in on himself, make himself invisible. Then Peter came, smelling and looking like trouble. And Stiles no longer saw what was unfolding. 

The last thing he saw was Derek pierced with Peter's claws. Then something inside him awoke and took over, it was rapidly filling the void so that he no longer felt empty. This was not anger, it was not a mindless rage, it was not even fear. Whatever it was, it was warm, its touch felt like healing, like it was mending something inside him. It took him a split second to realize that it was of his doing, he was pulling that warmth unto himself. And he felt them, their strength and support. Those were the pack bonds. In this moment, seeing his alpha hurt, dying, he must have unconsciously reach out, his dormant spark coming back to life, and he pulled and pulled, until the bonds filled him whole. It was faster a blink of an eye. One moment, he was death warmed over, void inside, the second, he was lighting up like a supernova, filled with the reassuring heat of the bonds. Not weighted down anymore, they were lifting him up.

He felt all of them, Derek, still alive, Lydia burning like a thousand suns, Erica, soft like a feather and tough like steel, he felt the quiet and steady reassurance of Boyd's presence, the needles and soft touches that made up Isaac, Scott, his brother, his first and foremost supporter, Allison, her bravery, her unbreakable human spirit, Jackson and his need to be loved, and his capacity to love back. And even Peter, which was surprising, but he felt that bond burn inside him, igniting him into action.

And he understood, he was standing there, among the darkness, surrounded by light and love of his pack, in the place of his torture, he was standing up to face his enemy. He watched how the witch observed the spectacle unfolding before her eyes, how she ignored everything else, so sure about her powers, so sure of her victory.

He watched the dark tendrils of Nemeton embracing her, she held onto them as her shield and her weapon, but they would be her undoing. He saw Peter's eyes turn red, but they were not shining with pride, they were watching Stiles, they were waiting. Time was running out; they both knew it. 

Stiles nodded, gently, a barely-there gesture, but he knew Peter saw it, it was enough for the wolf to relax his stance somewhat. Lydia was in front of him, and Stiles embraced the spark, now fully awakened, he embraced the bonds, took all the strength from them that he could, and he focused it all on Lydia. 

She came to life immediately, like a match rubbed against sulfur. She lit up with all the power he poured into her, and she let out a scream unlike any they heard. It was blood-curling, it was horrible, it hurt, resonating with the residue of Nemeton inside him.

But it was working. 

Despite the pain, it felt good to hear it, like it was disintegrating whatever darkness there was still inside the little nooks and crannies inside his head. The best thing though, was seeing the darkness pulsing around the witch, inside her, seeing her pain, so much pain and raw terror on her face. She was standing there, her hands raised and her whole body immobile. The Nemeton was choking her in its anger. And once the pack got free, they descended upon her.

Peter pulled the claws out of Derek, and they both joined the fray without even stopping for a moment to consider what just transpired between them. 

Stiles watched, with joy, with hatred, and fascination, as they tore her apart, as Peter dragged his claws against her throat, until she gasped for breath, but her mouth was only spitting blood. Erica dug her claws into the witches right side, and Boyd did the same on her left, even Scott, dear pure Scott, clawed at her stomach breaking the skin and digging through muscles, deep, so deep that if he wanted, he could probably rip out her guts. There was an arrow sticking out of her left shoulder, Isaac and Jackson were sinking their fangs in her calves. She couldn't even scream with her throat destroyed.

But she was still alive, hardly drawing any air, bleeding like a victim of a butcher, with her eyes unseeing, like her soul was slowly leaking out of her wounds, no longer shining through those proverbial windows of it. But she still stood, her heart kept beating. And Stiles wanted her dead, he wanted her gone. Lydia kept screaming, her voice somehow changing as if to carry his wishes. 

And Derek answered the call. His whole body shook and twisted, the fur was giving way to skin, he got up standing on his two feet and faced the witch. Stiles was not even sure if she was still seeing him, if she was not too far gone, but he did not care. It was not for her, it was for him, for him alone, for what she did to him. And he felt like Derek knew that, as he stood tall, and unashamed of his nudity, radiating strength and righteousness.

His movements were fast and brutal, there was no hesitation to them. It was one strike, his claws pierced her breast cage, the crack of the ribs echoed through the forest, a sound like music to Stiles's ears, and then Derek pulled out her heart. He turned and faced Stiles and raised it up, like an offering, and Stiles accepted it. As he watched it stop beating, he felt more and more like himself.

Then all of it got to him at once, the state he was in, what he did, what was done to him, the days, the hours were catching up on him, and he broke down. He saw Derek drop the heart and run to him, and as soon as Stiles was surrounded by his warm embrace, he started sobbing. It was an ugly, deep sob, that shook his entire frame, tears were blinding him, and his lungs burned. But Derek was so warm, naturally running hot and now even hotter from the fight and the adrenaline. He was like a furnace chasing the residual coldness from Stiles's bones. 

Time was once more unimportant, Stiles was not tracing its passing as he was sobbing into Derek's chest, bony fingers digging into the flesh of his arms a bit too hard, but Derek did not seem to mind, he was holding him equally tight, bordering on painful. The pack bond flared to live, and he felt like being given water after weeks in a desert. He drank the warmth up. 

Derek was showering him with words, with apologies and declarations of love, and it was shaking him apart. He wanted the words to pour out too, but he spent too much time in silence, locked in an iron cage and words no longer came easy to him. So, he communicated with the touch, with caressing Derek's face, with kisses to his cheeks and forehead. The pack, stood still as he first broke down, looking so unsure, not knowing if they were welcome. So, Stiles tugged at the bonds, and it galvanized them into action, they descended upon him like a, well, pack of wolves. But their touch was gentle, despite the fire in their eyes. Despite the need he felt burning underneath their skin.

The only one who did not join was Peter. He stood there, like a statue, his hands red with Derek's blood. He looked at them, and Stiles saw the turmoil in his eyes and recognized it. This was what Peter looked like every time he did something good for the pack, but this time it was something more.

Stiles forced his vocal cords to work, his lips to form words, to make a sound.

"We could have killed you."

The whole pack reacted, their bonds getting warmer, happier at hearing him speak. Peter turned away, as if looking at Stiles was too much as he spoke.

"It would have been worth it. For Laura."

It was the first time Stiles heard him sound so raw, so honest about it. His apologies before always sounded fake, and Stiles let it go then, because Derek did. But now, standing in the clearing, with the darkness dissipating and the sun breaking through the trees, in this place reeking of blood and death, Peter Hale stood tall and honest, ready to die to make up for the wrong he did. For the pack. For his nephew. And Stiles's beaten heart swelled. 

"Come here."

It seemed to break something in Peter, whatever was holding him back, and Stiles knew, better than even Derek, how much it was, how much was still weighing Peter down, and it was not gone, it would return. Stiles expected him to go back to scheming in no time. But for now, he truly joined the pack, holding tightly onto them, holding onto Stiles. 

It could not go on forever, though. Along with the dissipating darkness and with Nemeton's lingering control gone, Stiles became aware of more and more things. Like how tired he was, how much he wanted to see his dad, how he felt like a stranger, despite the bonds back, still missing the most important one. Derek was showering his face with kisses, but it did not feel like when they were connected, nor like when they were just dating. No, now it felt like meeting someone you still love but after an ugly breakup. It still felt good to be so close to Derek, but it also felt like it was no longer right, like he was no longer allowed to enjoy it.

"I want to go home." 

His voice was barely a whisper, but it seemed that every wolf heard it as they jumped in unison. They started to look around and sniff, and Stiles has seen them do it before, every time they lost the way. It dawned on him then that they must have known as little as him about where they were and how to get out of here. But his chest felt light and breathing came easy, so Stiles was not afraid that the Nemeton would trap them here. 

His mind was trying to get him to process what happened, but he did not want to. He was not ready. He needed to be clothed for that, he needed to eat and he desperately craved water. A shower would be good too. He was not ready to face what was done to him. He spared a glance to Lydia, she was wearing a hospital gown, and he knew that it was his fault. It was the Nemeton that sent the deer, but it used his belief, his spark, so he was responsible too. But she looked fine, and she stood tall, she saved him. He did not hurt anyone else, not that he known off, his pack stopped him before he could. And he was so grateful to them, he wanted to cry tears of relief.

He was going to have nightmares, he would have scars, he was going to scream himself awake until his voice would go out, he would be scared, and life was going to be weird for a while. He did not know where he stood with Derek, he lost his most cherished bond. But he would not carry guilt for taking an innocent person's life, the only blood on his hands was his own.

And he could live with that. Any other scenario was too awful to consider. He did not know what he would do if he woke up to a world in which he was a murderer, but he knew that it would be a burden hard to carry and even harder to shake off. It was different to consider destroying a monster or rejoicing at the sight of a witch's heart. It was a different thing altogether to think that he might have killed an innocent bystander.

The wolves must have finally found what they were looking for, as they signaled Derek to follow. Strong arms picked Stiles up and he curled into Derek's warmth, and drifted away into first peaceful sleep in a while, safe in the knowledge that he was protected, as his pack took him home.

* * *

**One week later**

Healing was slow, the Nemeton drained him horribly, and Stiles could not look into the mirror without disgust and wonder too, as he looked like he shouldn't even be alive now. It was worse than after he came home after he was attacked. This time, though, he had the pack around him, supporting him, draining away the pain, bringing him his favorite food, and sending him strength through the pack bonds. At first, those bonds were horribly fragile, recreated under pressure, they felt foreign for a moment, and then they didn't. As the pack spend time with him, they grew organically, even stronger than before. 

They all decided that Stiles and his dad should move to the pack house for a while, along with everyone else. He didn't even think about fighting it, it was what they needed. Being close to each other after everything accelerated the healing, which they all needed not just Stiles. Being in that house was not easy but not as hard as he thought. He did have a panic attack before they drove here, and he made his father promise not to tell anyone. But once he stepped foot on the land, he felt oddly at ease, as if the land was more permeated with love and strength and pack. The fear did not disappear, he was awoken by nightmares more than once, but he felt good here, he thrived. And if Derek could find strength and comfort living on the land where his family burned alive, Stiles too could conquer his fears. 

Derek, his mate, was by his side from day one, and sometimes that lead to fights as Stiles felt crowded, as if Derek became his shadow, like he was everywhere he looked. And at first, it was hard to look at him, Stiles forgave him, he knew that a lot of his emotions were enhanced by Nemeton to easier break him, to make him more susceptible to its control. But not all of it, there was a bit of anger in him that was fully his, and it came to the surface every time Derek refused to leave him alone, every time he begged for forgiveness, whenever Stiles had enough, he would throw hateful words at Derek's face. And the alpha just took it. But slowly they moved past it. It helped that Deaton was forbidden from stepping onto the preserve, Derek was wary of him, and Stiles associated him with pain and being abandoned. 

Surprisingly, Scott did not even protest and promised not to share any information with his boss. 

The whole pack was very agreeable with him, and as much as Stiles hated being coddled, this felt nice. Being enveloped in warm hugs, having an entire pack of wolves making sure that his dad ate veggie burgers and salads as per Stiles's wish, having them bring him curly fries and watch Star Wars together every evening, even though Scott nearly sobbed in a corner after a few days of that routine.

Life was going back to normal, but still, all Stiles had to do was catch a glimpse of his scars and he would be reminded of everything that happened. 

Derek was patient with him, first with his tantrums, then with his self-loathing though he never let him get too lost in the self-pity. He did not bring up the mating bond, as he must have felt that it was too early, but Stiles hoped to be ready for that talk soon. Without it, he felt a little empty, a little void like when the Nemeton had him. But for now, he had to focus on being able to look at himself. 

The mirror was still showing him a monster, the protruding ribs, the gaunt cheeks, the scars.

"You are beautiful, to me you will always be beautiful."

He shivered; he did not hear Derek come in. He tried to hide, keep to himself those moments when he felt at his lowest, not wanting anyone to coddle him too much, to feel sorry for him, or worse, to feel disgust at seeing what he saw. That Derek now tried to placate him with such words, it ignited a fire in his veins, and he snapped.

"Yeah, cause you see me with your heart's eyes, right? The rest of the world sees me as I am, as you made me."

He regretted those words the moment he spoke. More so as he heard the whine coming from Derek. 

"Stiles...," he sounded so hurt, but Stiles could not take the words back. The damage was done, he could only apologize. 

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to. You didn't mean to. And yet here we are, hurting each other."

Derek reached out to him, and when he did not step away, he pulled him into a hug, and Stiles found even more words inside.

"I am not myself yet. There is no power pulling my strings, but I am not whole yet. And I will say things that will make you doubt me; make you doubt that I love you. Don't. I do. I just have trouble expressing it yet. I still fall back on my words, when it gets too much. But it will get better. It has to."

And he believed that. If there was one thing he knew of the Hale pack, it was that they were survivors, they would come back from this. It will not come easy, it won't happen overnight, but it will happen. Here, in Derek's arms, he could feel the absolute certainty that they will put this nightmare behind them. They will once more be joined by a mating bond, one that they would cherish even more, now knowing that it can be lost. The pack emerged stronger on the other side, Lydia and Erica got closer, Peter dropped his act, showing how much he needed to be a part of the pack, all of them stood taller, basking in the knowledge that they were not alone. 

There was still trouble to come, Nemeton was still out there, waiting to strike again, it was still calling out to all the evil creatures out there, luring them into Beacon Hills.

But the Hale pack was waiting, stronger than ever. With the Spark and the Alpha back together, whispering I love you's and finding solace in their embrace. 

And for now, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. Thank you for coming along with me for the ride! <3 My first ever fanfic, and the first complete text since 2014.  
> There will be a sequel soon (not sure when, though, maybe by the end of May) dealing with Stiles recovery, it will be a bit sad but it will also definitely be more optimistic than this one and will bring the true happy ending (and will be a one-shot this time).


End file.
